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THE 


HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


RErRINTED  FROM 

“CHAPTERS  ON  FLOWERS,” 

IN  THE  “  MAGAZINE  FOR  THE  YOUNG.” 


“  And  the  earth  brought  forth  grass,  and  herb  yielding  seed  after  his 
kind,  and  the  tree  yielding  fruit,  whose  seed  was  in  itself,  after  his 
kind :  and  God  saw  that  it  was  good.” — Genesis,  i.  12. 

“  By  His  care  the  tender  grass 
Springs  where  flock  or  herd  shall  pass ; 

He  the  riper  blade  assigned 
For  a  treasure  to  mankind. 

So  might  earth  her  store  impart ; 

The  new  wine  cheer  man’s  sinking  heart ; 

So  with  oil  his  brow  might  brighten, 

Bread  his  sinking  spirit  lighten.” — 

Psalm  civ.  Oxford  Psalter. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

TIIE  KTNGS  OF  ENGLAND,”  “  LANGLEY  SCHOOL,” 
“  SCENES  AND  CHARACTERS,”  &C. 


®>ccontJ  i£tJition. 


LONDON: 

J.  AND  C.  MOZLEY,  6,  PATERNOSTER  ROW  ; 
MASTERS  AND  CO.  78,  NEW  BOND  STREET. 

1858. 


PREFACE. 


These  Chapters  must  not  be  considered  so  much 
as  a  work  on  Botany,  as  an  attempt  to  bring  the 
wonders  of  the  vegetable  world  under  the  notice 
of  children,  and  lead  them  to  take  interest  in  the 
plants  around  them. 

Of  their  irregularity  the  author  is  well  aware. 
They  were  begun  with  a  view  to  the  flowers  of 
each  month ;  but  the  necessity  of  some  plan, 
caused  each  chapter  to  contain  a  sketch  of  a 
natural  order;  in  which,  however,  she  begs  she 
may  not  be  supposed  to  include  the  u  last  bells  of 
summer,”  or  the  u  Christmas  evergreens.” 

After  the  twelfth  chapter,  the  Linna3an  classes 
were  gone  through,  in  order  to  pick  up  such 
plants  as  had  been  omitted,  and  in  arranging  them 
for  separate  publication,  the  same  order  has  been 


IV 


PREFACE. 


preserved,  as  the  earlier  chapters  are  the  easiest, 
and  after  going  through  them,  a  child  will  be 
better  able  to  understand  the  latter  ones. 

Long  words  have  been  avoided  as  much  as 
possible;  and  something  of  system  and  science 
has  been  sacrificed  to  the  desire  to  give  no  formid- 
able  appearance  to  the  page.  It  is  hoped  that 
there  is  nothing  contrary  to  scientific  botany,  and 
that  such  as  pursue  the  study  further,  will  find 
their  way  smoothed,  and  that  thev  have  nothing 
to  unlearn. 

We  believe  that  the  want  has  been  long  felt,  of 
a  book  on  plants  sufficiently  free  from  botanical 
terms,  and  with  amusement  enough  to  give  young 
children  a  pleasure  in  the  knowledge  of  flowers  ; 
and  it  is  hoped  that  the  u  Herb  of  the  Field5' 
may  be  found  in  some  way  to  supply  this  need. 
A  few  of  the  chapters  read  to  a  child,  with  the 
examination  of  the  flowers  therein  described, 
would  probably  excite  its  interest  in  the  rest. 

It  was  with  a  view  to  village  children  that  the 
chapters  were  at  first  written,  in  the  hope  of 
rousing  them  from  the  indifference  to  wild  flowers, 
that  causes  almost  everything  to  be  classed  as  a 
lily  or  a  poppy.  To  teach  them  to  value,  and 


V 


PREFACE. 

observe,  and  perceive  the  wide-spread  beauties 
in  the  woods  and  fields  around  them,  is  opening 
a  great  source  of  happiness,  and  leading  them  to  a 
pursuit  of  a  refining  and  softening  nature,  one  of 
the  best  of  the  subordinate  means  of  cultivation. 

And  it  is  very  easily  done.  To  ask  if  they 
know  the  name  of  a  plant,  to  notice  the  pride  of 
their  Sunday  nosegays,  to  reveal  some  of  those 
marvels  they  have  never  perceived  in  the  interior 
of  a  blossom,  is  a  sure  way  to  produce  delighted 
smiles  and  animated  looks ;  and  simple  lessons  on 
natural  objects  are  certain  to  be  enjoyed  and  re¬ 
membered.  Or  when  connected  with  the  subject 
where  all  teaching  begins  and  ends,  there  is  surely 
no  means  better  suited  for  showing  to  young 
minds  at  once  the  mercy  and  majesty  of  the 
Creator,  than  the  display  of  the  exquisite  love¬ 
liness  and  perfect  contrivance  of  those  minute 
plants,  so  common  that  they  have  hitherto  passed 
them  by  without  heed. 

It  is  for  such  readers  as  these,  who  will  never 
be  likely  to  have  time  or  means  for  the  study  of 
complete  botanical  works,  but  who  nevertheless 
take  delight  in  knowing  intimately  the  dwellers 
in  meadow,  wood,  or  wayside,  that  the  classifi- 


VI 


PREFACE. 


cation'  of  English  plants  has  been  given  at  the 
end,  hoping  that  they  may  be  thus  assisted  in 
learning  the  names  of  the  fair  forms  that  refresh 
their  eyes. 


BOTANICAL  TERMS  EMPLOYED. 


Pistil — tlie  central  point  of  the  flower,  which  becomes 
the  seed-vessel. 

Stigma — the  top  of  the  pistil. 

Style — the  column  of  the  pistil. 

Germ — the  bottom  of  the  pistil,  containing  the  seed. 

Stamens — the  cases  of  pollen,  supported  on  stalks. 

Anther — the  case  containing  pollen. 

Pollen — the  dust  of  the  anthers,  which  makes  the  germ 
fertile. 

Filament — the  thread-like  stems  that  support  the 
anthers. 

Corolla — the  whole  case  in  which  the  stamens  and 
pistil  are  contained,  usually  the  coloured 
part  of  the  flower. 

Petal — a  single  leaf  of  the  corolla. 

Nectary — the  honey-cup  in  the  corolla. 

Calyx — the  green  cup  enclosing  the  corolla. 

Spathe — a  sheath  like  that  of  a  daffodil. 

Receptacle — the  bottom  of  the  calyx,  or  top  of  the 
stem  on  which  the  flower  grows. 

Superior  corolla — a  corolla  growing  above  the  germ. 

Inferior  corolla — growing  below  the  germ. 


Vlll 


BOTANICAL  TERMS  EMPLOYED. 


Capsule — little  purse,  the  case  where  the  seed  is  con¬ 
tained. 

Bract — a  leaf  growing  at  the  foot  of  the  flower-stalk. 

Cotyledon — a  seed-leaf,  which  springs  up  first,  then 
falls  off. 

Alternate  leaves — those  growing  by  turns  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  stem. 

Serrate  leaves — those  notched  like  a  saw. 

Linear — long  narrow  ones. 

Pinnate — winged,  such  as  vine  leaves. 

Cyme — a  head  of  blossom,  like  elder. 

Umbel — a  head  like  hemlock. 

Frond — a  fern,  or  sea-weed  leaf. 

Imbricated — scales  growing  one  over  the  other,  as  in 
a  fir-cone. 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FEBRUARY  FLOWERS. 

THE  SNOWDROP  AND  CROCUS. 

Everyone  loves  flowers,  and  well  we  may,  for  there 
is  nothing  on  earth  so  beautiful  or  so  pure  as  they. 
The  choice  rare  flowers  of  hotter  climates,  are  some  of 
the  most  delicious  of  the  luxuries  enjoyed  by  the  rich  ; 
the  trim,  bright  garden-bed  is  the  delight  of  many  who 
And  little  to  cheer  them  elsewhere  ;  even  in  the  close 
and  smoky  town  a  few  plants  are  cherished  like  darl¬ 
ings,  and  the  glorious  multitudes  that  are  spread  in  the 
woods  and  valleys  form  no  small  part  of  the  pleasures 
of  the  country  child. 

We  may  vrell  be  thank  fid  that  our  Maker  has  given 
us  such  plenty  of  these  fairest  among  His  works, 
showering  them  upon  us  in  such  profusion,  as  to  show 
how  great  must  be  the  power  and  the  kindness  of  Him 
who  made  every  plant  in  the  field  before  it  grew, 
arraying  them  more  richly  than  Solomon  in  all  his 
glory.  He  is  a  kind  father  who  provides  for  the  plea¬ 
sure  and  amusement  of  his  children,  as  well  as  for  their 
safety  and  comfort ;  and  so  those  who  delight  in  sweet 
flowers,  should  return  especial  thanks  for  the  loving¬ 
kindness  which  has  provided  such  joys  for  them. 

1 


2 


TriE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Perhaps  it  may  be  some  assistance  in  rendering  our 
thanks  for  these,  Ilis  beautiful  works,  to  be  led  to  ex¬ 
amine  a  little  into  their  structure,  and  the  wonderful 
perfection  of  their  parts,  of  which  many  who  admire 
their  brilliant  colouring  are  very  ignorant. 

We  will  begin  with  a  February  flower,  which  all  are 
glad  to  see,  when  it  first  pushes  up  its  green  case  above 
the  dark  mould,  and  gradually  opening,  shows  its  pure 
white  drop  of  a  bud,  hanging  on  a  tiny  stem,  and  at 
last  opening  into  the  delicate  bell  of  “vernal  green, 
and  virgin  white.” 

Well,  then,  take  a  snowdrop,  and  if  you  can  find  it 
in  your  heart  to  do  it,  and  if  it  can  be  spared  out  of  the 
garden,  pull  it  up  by  the  root ;  for  I  want  to  tell  you 
about  it  from  beginning  to  end,  from  the  top  of  the 
little  green  banner  that  waves  above  the  white  bell, 
down  to  the  last  fibre  of  the  strings  at  the  bottom  of 
the  root. 

It  will  be  the  best  way  to  begin  with  the  root,  the 
round,  hard  root,  which  is  called  a  bulb,  and  which,  if 
you  cut  it  in  two,  you  will  find  to  consist  of  a  number 
of  flakes,  or  coats,  fitting  closely  one  over  the  other. 
An  onion  has  a  root  of  the  same  kind,  as  you  must 
have  often  seen.  If  you  had  cut  open  this  root  in  the 
end  of  last  autumn,  and  looked  at  it  with  a  strong 
magnifying-glass,  you  might  have  seen  the  whole  tiny 
snowdrop-plant,  leaves,  stem,  blossom,  and  all,  lying 
tightly  curled  up  safe  within  all  the  numerous  outer 
coats,  waiting  for  the  first  breath  of  spring  to  push  its 
way  out  into  the  air. 

The  fibres,  or  strings,  that  hang  below,  are  so  many 
mouths  with  which  the  plant  sucks  nourishment  out  of 
the  ground ;  the  tall,  sword-sliaped  leaves,  which  all 
spread  out  from  the  root,  may  be  said  to  be  the  means 


THE  SNOWDROP  AND  CROCUS. 


tl 

o 


by  which  it  breathes,  for  they  conduct  the  air  into  the 
numerous  tiny  air-cells  of  which  the  plant  is  full ;  and 
a  plant,  as  you  well  know,  can  no  more  live  without 
air,  drink,  and  its  own  kind  of  food,  than  you  can. 
Next  comes  the  one  long  green  stem,  with  its  moist,  juicy 
inside,  through  which  the  air  and  sap  are  conducted  to 
nourish  the  blossom.  At  the  end  is  a  sort  of  sheath, 
in  which  the  blossom  was  safely  packed  up  when  first  it 
budded  forth,  until,  as  spring  came  on,  the  bud  swelled 
and  swelled,  till  the  sheath  could  hold  it  no  longer, 
but  opened  at  the  side,  and  let  the  round  bud  drop  out 
and  hang  down  by  its  little  slender  footstalk. 

Now  comes  what  we  call  the  flower ;  and  here  you 
must  learn  several  hard  names,  if  you  wish  to  be  able 
to  understand  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about 
plants.  The  prettily  coloured,  or  white  leaves  of  a 
flower,  are  properly  named  petals.  Of  these  in  the 
snowdrop  there  are  six,  three  larger  ones  outside,  curv¬ 
ed  and  perfectly  white,  and  three  lesser  ones  within, 
with  a  notch  in  the  middle,  and  marked  with  green. 
That  is,  if  you  have  taken  a  single  snowdrop ;  if  you 
have  a  double  one,  I  can  go  no  further,  for  there  the 
petals,  which  are  of  no  real  use  except  to  protect  the 
important  parts  of  the  flower  within,  are  so  multiplied 
that  they  have  used  up  all  the  strength  of  the  plant, 
and  even  consumed  these  really  useful  parts ;  so  that, 
as  everybody  knows,  a  double  flower  never  produces 
good  fruit,  but  only  rejoices  in  its  own  finery  for  a  time. 
Not  unlike  some  people  that  I  could  tell  you  of. 

But  we  will  suppose  you  have  a  good,  quiet,  modest 
snowdrop,  with  its  green  and  white  robes  in  good 
order,  and  put  to  their  proper  use,  of  guarding  and 
sheltering  what  is  within  them.  Inside  of  the  three 
green-marked  petals,  you  will  find  seven  little  threads, 


4 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


all  perched  upon  a  green  cushion,  called  sometimes  the 
germ,  and  sometimes  the  receptacle.  The  middle  one 
of  these  is  straight,  with  a  forked  top,  and  is  called  the 
pistil ;  the  six  others  are  the  stamens,  and  each  of  them 
is  surmounted  by  a  sort  of  long  narrow  case,  called  an 
anther,  filled  with  a  kind  of  dust,  named  pollen. 

This  pollen,  as  the  anthers  open,  is  shed  upon  the 
pistil,  and  passing  along  it  to  the  receptacle,  there  turns 
to  seed  ;  the  petals  die  away,  and  the  receptacle  swells, 
day  by  day,  as  you  will  see  if  you  watch  carefully,  till 
at  last  it  grows  to  a  capsule,  like  a  bag,  or  rather  a 
purse.  You  may  have  seen  purses  divided  into  com¬ 
partments  for  gold,  silver,  and  copper ;  and  the  capsule 
of  the  snowdrop  is  divided  something  in  the  same  man¬ 
ner  into  three  cells,  each  of  them  full  of  round  seeds, 
and  every  one  of  these  seeds  has  a  minute  plant  wrap¬ 
ped  up  inside  of  it. 

Happy  the  children  who  live  where  snowdrops  grow 
wild,  and  very  proud  of  them  they  are,  for  it  is  not 
often  that  they  are  so  found  ;  indeed,  some  people  think 
that  it  is  not  an  English  flower  at  all,  but  has  only 
made  its  escape,  as  we  may  say,  from  gardens.  I  know 
of  a  dell,  in  the  garden  of  what  was  once  a  convent, 
which  is  full  of  these  beautiful  flowers,  in  such  num¬ 
bers,  that  one  might  gather  for  half  the  day  without 
making  it  look  much  less  white. 

But  we  must  take  our  leave  of  the  “  Fair-Maids-of- 
February,”  and  go  on  to  their  first  cousin,  the  crocus, 
the  long  thready  leaves  of  which,  with  the  white  stripe 
in  the  middle,  shoot  out  in  readiness  for  spring,  before 
even  the  Christmas  holidays  are  over.  In  an  early 
spring,  crocuses  are  in  blossom  before  the  end  of  Feb¬ 
ruary,  their  dry  withered  sheath  hanging  down  over 
the  bulb,  and  their  rich  golden  yellow  flowers  seeming 


THE  SNOWDROP  AND  CROCUS. 


0 


almost  to  reflect  the  brightness  of  the  sun-beams,  in 
their  depth  of  rich,  glowing  yellow.  And  how  the 
bees  delight  in  rolling  deep  within  them,  seeking  for 
the  honey  which  is  stored  in  the  cup,  or  nectary,*  as  it 
is  called,  at  the  bottom  of  the  petals  !  All  crocuses 
have  six  petals,  bulbous  roots,  long  narrow  leaves,  and 
a  sheath ;  but  they  differ  from  the  snowdrop  in  having 
no  stem,  and  only  three  stamens  instead  of  six.  The 
pistil,  too,  has  a  pretty  branching  crown,  called  a 
stigma,  and  the  petals  are  all  of  the  same  size  and 
shape. 

The  brilliant  yellow  spring  crocus  grows  wild  in 
Syria,  and  has  only  been  cultivated  in  England  for 
about  two  hundred  years.  It  shows  its  love  for  the 
bright  sun  of  its  native  land,  by  only  opening  on  sun¬ 
shiny  days,  amh  closing  up  fast  in  frost  and  fog,  though, 
like  a  sweet  gentle  temper,  it  is  always  ready  to  open 
again  on  the  first  encouragement. 

It3  brothers,  in  purple  and  in  striped  coats,  are  not 
quite  so  pretty  to  look  at  from  a  distance,  though, 
when  close  to  them,  they  are  very  elegant  flowers  ;  the 
long,  forked,  orange-coloured  stigma  of  the  purple  one, 
shows  off  to  great  advantage  with  the  colour  of  the 
petals. 

The  crocus  root  dies  away  every  year  after  forming 
a  new  bulb,  or  sometimes  two,  close  by  its  side,  and 
thus  the  plant  gradually  changes  its  place  till  it  comes 
quite  out  of  the  border  where  it  was  at  first  planted. 
The  purple  crocus  is  English,  and  grows  in  great 
quantities  in  the  fields  about  Nottingham. 

There  are  other  sorts  which  blossom  in  the  autumn, 
of  which  I  will  just  mention  the  saffron  crocus,  which 
is  grown  in  great  quantities  in  Essex  and  Suffolk. 

*  So  called  from  Nectar,  a  sweet  drink. 


6 


THE  IIEUE  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


The  stigma,  which  is  very  large,  is  picked  off  by 
women  and  children,  and  laid  out  on  linen  cloths  to 
dry  in  a  heated  room,  after  which  it  is  put  in  paper 
bags,  and  sold,  to  be  used  in  many  ways,  one  of  which 
those  who  like  saffron  buns  will  soon  recollect,  as  well 
as  those  who  have  to  doctor  their  pet  canary-birds  in 
the  moulting  season. 

Bulbous-rooted  flowers  have,  then,  as  you  should 
recollect,  six  petals  ;  either  six  or  three  stamens,  with 
anthers ;  one  pistil,  consisting  of  a  germ,  style, *  and 
stigma ;  usually  straight,  soft  stems,  without  branches  ; 
leaves  either  growing  from  the  root  or  on  the  stem  ; 
and  sheathes  in  which  the  young  blossom  is  enclosed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MARCH  FLOWERS. 

TIIE  DAFFODIL  AND  HAZEL. 

Wiio  can  pass  by  the  1st  of  March  without  a  word 
or  two  of  the  Lent  Lil}r,  the  beautiful  yellow  daffodil  ? 
The  Latin  name  of  the  daffodil  is  Narcissus ;  and  there 
was  an  old  heathen  story,  that  there  was  once  a  youth 
who  was  always  admiring  his  own  beauty,  looking  at 
his  face  reflected  in  clear  pools  and  streams,  (for  it 
was  before  looking-glasses  were  invented,)  till  he  was 
punished  for  his  foolish  vanity,  by  being  changed  into 
the  flower  which  still  hangs  down  its  head,  as  he  hung 
his  over  the  water. 

*  The  style  is  the  long  stem  of  the  pistil,  and  is  named  from 
the  shape  of  the  iron  styles,  or  pens,  which  were  used  in  old 
times  for  writing  on  tablets  of  wax. 


THE  DAFFODIL  AND  HAZEL. 


7 


Certainly  he  has  not  left  off  wearing  a  very  gay 
dress,  though  I  never  yet  saw  him  near  the  water,  hut 
always  in  copses  and  woody  banks.  How  pleasant  it 
is  to  see  those  multitudes  of  yellow  flowers  scattered 
all  over  the  ground !  And  how  delightful  to  gather 

them,  blossom  after  blossom,  and  still  it  does  not  seem 
as  if  the  numbers  were  in  the  least  thinned  !  And 

then,  when  the  hands  are  as  full  as  ever  they  can  hold, 
to  tic  the  stalks  up  in  a  hard  solid  bundle,  cut  them 
all  to  one  length,  and  make  a  present  of  the  noble 
golden  nosegay ;  or  put  it  into  a  cup  of  water,  or  per¬ 
haps  send  it  to  market,  where  it  may  be  bought  by 
some  town  person,  who  does  not  often  see  a  fresh 
flower. 

I  remember  that  my  nurse  did  not  always  like  my 
daffodil  nosegays,  because  there  were  no  leaves,  and 
she  said  the  flowers  were  too  gaudy,  but  I  did  not 
think  so  ;  the  six  outer  petals  are  so  soft  and  delicate, 
and  the  deep  yellow  bell  inside  is  so  bright  and  beau¬ 
tiful,  and  has  such  a  curious  kind  of  sparkle  upon  it, 
and  then  its  edge  is  so  beautifully  quilled  and  scal¬ 
loped,  I  used  to  turn  the  flower  upside-down,  and 
fancy  it  a  fairy’s  dress ;  the  deep  yellow  bell  her 
golden  petticoat ;  and  the  petals  above,  her  pale  gauze 
robe,  deeply  cut ;  while  her  boddice  was  the  green  re¬ 
ceptacle  on  which  they  grow. 

The  yellow  petticoat  is  really  the  nectary  or  honey- 
cup  ;  garden  narcissuses  and  jonquils,  which  blossom 
later,  have  the  nectary  likewise,  only  smaller;  and 
there  is  also  another  sort  which  grows  wild  in  some 
places,  called  sometimes  the  poetic  narcissus,  and  some¬ 
times  butter-and-eggs.  The  petals  of  this  are  quite 
white,  and  the  nectary  yellow,  trimmed  with  red,  and 
a  very  pretty  flower  it  is,  though  I  can  never  like  it 


8 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


quite  as  well  as  the  old  daffodil.  Perhaps  those  do, 
however,  who  have  known  it  all  their  lives  as  an  old 
friend,  and  have  put  it  into  their  first  May  garland. 

Narcissuses  and  jonquils  are  often  kept  in  glasses 
of  water  or  flower-pots  all  the  winter  in  the  house ; 
their  bulbs  put  down  long  fibres  into  the  water,  and 
suck  up  juice  enough  for  the  support  of  the  plant, 
so  that  it  puts  up  its  almond-shaped  bud,  spreads  its 
long  green  leaves,  and  unfolds  its  yellow  flower,  so  as 
to  be  the  pleasure  of  all  in  the  house.  I  have  heard 
of  a  little  sick  boy  in  London,  who  laid  on  his  bed 
close  to  the  black  smoky  window,  with  no  amuse¬ 
ment  but  watching  day  after  day  how  his  three  jonquils 
grew  and  budded,  and  when  at  last  he  died,  he  left 
them  as  his  choicest  treasure  to  a  friend  who  had  been 
kind  to  him. 

Excepting  the  large  nectary,  the  narcissus  differs 
but  little  in  structure  from  the  snowdrop,  as  you  will 
soon  find  by  examining  it.  The  brown  sheath  hangs 
withered  behind  the  flower;  the  pistil  and  the  six 
stamens  rise  like  a  fluted  pillar  in  the  middle  of  the 
nectary ;  the  germ  is  round,  and  when  ripe,  becomes  a 
capsule  filled  with  seeds ;  and  the  leaves  are  long  and 
narrow,  growing  directly  from  the  root. 

So  we  will  leave  the  daffodil  and  its  relations,  and 
look  a  little  further  in  the  copse.  What  are  these 
long,  soft-looking  tassels,  hanging  out  of  these  dry 
sticks  ? 

O,  those  are  not  flowers,  those  are  pussey  cats,  says 
one  child ;  they  are  cats’  tails,  says  another ;  and  I 
for  my  own  part  should  call  them  catkins,  though  that 
is  not  a  much  wiser  name,  since  catkin  can  mean 
nothing  but  little  cat. 

And  pray  what  is  the  bush  they  grow  upon  ?  Ten 


THE  DAFFODIL  AND  IIAZEL. 


9 


to  one  that  few  of  you  can  tell  me,  unless,  perhaps, 
you  happen  to  remember  that  somewhere  hereabouts 
last  autumn,  you  picked  a  capital  bunch  of  nuts,  and 
have  a  guess  that  it  must  have  been  off  this  very  bush. 
And  so  it  was ;  and  this  is  a  hazel  nut  bush  !  But 
where  do  the  nuts  come  from,  and  what  have  the 
pussey’s  tails  to  do  there,  since  I  never  yet  heard  that 
cats  were  apt  to  hang  up  their  tails  to  dry  on  hazel 
bushes?  Nor  do  I  think  that  these  things  are  very 
much  like  them. 

Ah  !  now  you  look  very  wise,  you  have  a  guess. 
Why  should  not  pussey’s  tails  turn  to  nuts,  as  well  as 
apple  blossom  to  apples  ?  Let  us  see,  then,  what  the 
catkin  is  really  made  of. 

It  is  formed  of  a  great  number  of  little  scales  one 
over  the  other,  some  pale  green,  some  buff,  and  some 
a  little  shaded  with  red,  and  within  each  of  these  scales 
there  are  some  yellow  things,  eight  of  them,  which 
yellow  things  are  fast  covering  your  fingers  with  dust. 
That  dust  is  pollen,  and  those  eight  are  anthers’  stamens, 
only  that  they  have  no  legs,  properly  called  filaments, 
and  the  scales  are  petals,  so  that  each  catkin  is  in  reality 
a  string  of  tiny  flowers. 

After  all  they  are  but  half  flowers,  for  if  you  remem¬ 
ber,  it  is  the  pistil,  and  not  the  stamens,  of  the  snow¬ 
drop  that  turns  to  seed,  and  these  anthers  have  no  seed 
in  them.  Perhaps  the  pistil  is  in  another  part  of  the 
catkin.  No,  peep  into  scale  after  scale,  and  still  there 
are  nothing  but  anthers,  so  that  we  must  look  a  little 
further  to  find  the  young  nut. 

See,  a  little  lower  on  the  branch,  here  is  a  hard 
brown  bud,  much  like  those  that  turn  to  leaves,  except 
that  it  has  a  cluster  of  pretty  crimsom  threads  at  the 
top,  a  sort  of  red  feather  in  its  cap.  Here  lives  the 


10 


THE  IIEEB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


nut,  here  are  the  pistil-hearing  flowers,  for  the  hazel 
keeps  its  stamens  and  pistils  in  different  blossoms. 

Let  the  neatest  hand  and  most  delicate  fingers  pull 
off  one  by  one  the  brown  scales  in  which  the  bud  has 
been  guarded  all  the  winter.  Inside,  there  is  first  a 
quantity  of  soft  hair  to  keep  it  warm,  and  in  the  midst 
are  several  very  small  green  cups,  each  containing  a 
tiny  germ,  on  which  grow  two  crimson  threads,  the 
stigma  of  the  pistil.  If  you  can  manage  to  look  at  it 
through  a  magnifying-glass,  you  vTill  understand  it 
much  better,  and  see  that  the  little  germ  is  very  nearly 
of  the  shape  of  a  nut. 

The  pussey’s  tails  will  shake  off  their  dust,  some  of 
it  will  be  carried  off  by  the  bees  to  serve  as  flour  for 
their  bee-bread,  some  will  float  away  on  the  wind,  and 
some  will  be  caught  by  the  crimson  crest  of  this  nest 
of  little  nuts.  Then  the  catkins  will  wither  and  fall 
off,  but  the  little  nuts  will  swell  and  enlarge  as  the  year 
advances. 

The  crimson  stigmas  will  turn  purple,  and  shrivel 
up,  the  scales  will  open,  the  cups  will  grow  longer  and 
more  leafy,  and  the  germs  harden  into  outer  shells,  in 
which  there  grow  at  length  the  white  sweet  kernels. 
Each  of  these  kernels  is,  as  you  remember,  apt  to  break 
into  two  equal  parts  when  the  nut  is  cracked,  and 
there  is  apt  to  be  a  stringy,  scaly  piece  between  them. 
This  string  is  the  young  stem  of  the  infant  hazel,  and  if 
the  nut  was  in  the  ground,  and  allowed  to  grow,  the 
two  halves  of  the  kernel  would  produce  two  cotyledons 
or  seed-leaves,  which  would  be  pushed  above  ground 
by  the  young  stem. 

I  dare  say  you  think  that  those  two  white,  pleasant- 
tasting  half-kernels  may  be  put  to  a  different  use  before 
ever  they  have  time  to  make  seed-leaves,  or  cotyledons. 


THE  DxlFFODIL  AND  HAZEL. 


11 


What  fun  it  is  to  pull  them  down  from  the  tree,  bunch 
after  bunch,  one,  two,  three,  aye,  sometimes  half-a- 
dozen  in  a  cluster  !  crack,  crunch  !  Oh  !  I  hope  you 
have  good  teeth  ! 

Something  else  has  good  teeth  if  you  have  not ;  the 
pretty  little  squirrel,  with  his  bushy  tail,  likes  to  lay 
up  a  store  of  nuts  for  his  winter  hoard,  and  sit  up 
holding  them  in  his  paws,  and  nibbling  away  the  shell. 
So  does  the  wood-mouse,  who  makes  his  nest  in  the 
moss  under  the  tree.  But  how  can  the  nut-hatch  con¬ 
trive,  that  pretty  bird,  with  the  grey  back  and  black 
streak  over  the  eye,  he  is  as  fond  of  nuts  as  the  mouse 
or  the  squirrel,  but  he  lias  no  paws  to  hold  them,  so  how 
can  he  get  at  the  kernel,  through  that  hard  shell  ? 

The  nut-liatch  chooses  a  chink  between  two  stones, 
or  in  the  bark  of  a  tree,  where  he  can  firmly  fix  the 
nut,  like  a  piece  of  wood  in  a  carpenter’s  vice,  and 
there  he  hammers  it,  tap,  tap,  with  his  strong  beak,  till 
he  lias  broken  out  a  hole  large  enough  for  him  to  ex¬ 
tract  the  kernel. 

Between  the  children,  the  squirrels,  mice,  and  nut¬ 
hatches,  to  say  nothing  of  the  little,  round,  white  mag¬ 
gots,  which  all  like  nuts,  it  would  seem  as  if  there 
might  be  few  left  to  grow  into  fresh  hazel  bushes,  and 
perhaps  it  is  for  this  reason  that  the  bush  throws  up 
shoots  from  the  root,  which  grow  up  into  stems  in  time. 

And  how  many  things  the  branches  are  useful  for  ? 
What  would  green  peas  and  scarlet  runners  do  without 
them  ?  Others,  again,  are  split  in  half  and  made  into 
hoops,  to  be  put  round  casks.  A  very  pretty  winter 
sight  is  the  hoop-shaving  :  the  copsewood  all  cut  down  ; 
the  great  piles  of  white  chips ;  the  tall  heap  of  hoops, 
placed  regularly  one  over  the  other,  so  as  to  look  like 
a  barrel  already  ;  the  long  white  bundles  of  rods,  for 


12 


THE  ITEIvB  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


crates,  set  up  on  end,  leaning  against  each  other  ;  and 
the  little  hut  made  of  sticks  and  covered  with  chips, 
with  sometimes  a  fire,  with  the  smoke  curling  up,  be¬ 
tween  the  great  old  trees  that  still  are  left  standing, 

though  all  the  brushwood  is  down. 

© 

Then,  too,  the  hazel-sticks  make  withes  for  binding, 
and  are  woven  into  hurdles  for  sheep  ;  yes,  and  the 
first  Christian  flock  in  England  were  enclosexl  within 
hazel  walls.  It  was  of  wattled  hurdles  that  the  first 
Church  was  made  that  was  raised  at  Glastonbury,  and 
it  was  long  before  our  forefathers  were  able  to  form 
these  holy  buildings  of  more  solid  materials. 

There  are  no  hazel  leaves  to  look  at  now,  they  are 
all  folded  up  in  the  little  hard,  brown  buds,  and  will 
not  come  out  till  May.  Then,  perhaps,  you  may  re¬ 
member  to  observe  the  serrated  or  saw-like  ed<je  of  the 
leaf,  and  the  numbers  of  little  branches  at  the  back, 
like  a  net-work,  to  serve  as  channels  for  the  sap. 


CHAPTER  III. 

APRIL  FLOWERS. 

ANEMONE  AND  RANUNCULUS. 

An  April  nosegay !  It  is  much  easier  to  gather  one 
than  a  March  nosegay ;  indeed,  there  are  so  many 
flowers  now,  that  I  can  only  choose  out  a  few  to  talk 
about,  as  it  would  take  too  long  to  dwell  upon  them  all. 

The  Easter  flower  is  commonly  called  the  Pasque 
flower,  from  the  word  Paschal.  It  is  very  pretty,  deep 
purple,  and  with  yellow  stamens ;  but  it  is  not  very 


ANEMONE  AND  RANUNCULUS. 


16> 
o 

common.  I  will  go  on  to  another  flower  of  the  same 
genus,  the  wood-anemone. 

Anemone  means  windflower,  and  this  I  believe  is  the 
English  name  often  given  to  this  very  pretty  ornament 
of  our  woods,  which  some  village  children  call  smell- 
foxes.  It  is  rather  difficult  to  get  at  the  root  of  the 
wood-anemone,  as  it  is  deep  in  the  earth,  and  creeping, 
putting  down  clusters  of  fibres  into  the  ground,  and 
shooting  up  stems  at  short  distances  apart.  Each  stem 
has  a  sort  of  joint  about  half-way  up,  whence  spring 
three  leaf  stalks,  each  stalk  bears  three  leaves,  and 
these  leaves  are  again  notched  deeply  into  three  divi¬ 
sions,  and  altogether  they  spread  out  most  gracefully 
below  the  slender  stem  which  bears  the  modest  blos¬ 
som,  bending  down  its  head  and  folding  its  wings  in 
wet  weather  or  at  night,  and  opening  them  again  to 
rejoice  in  the  delicious  spring  sunshine. 

The  six  petals  are  usually  of  a  delicate  pearly  white ; 
but  sometimes,  especially  later  in  the  season,  they  have 
a  tinge  of  lilac,  and  I  have  now  and  then  seen  one 
quite  purple.  Within  are  quite  a  crowd  of  stamens 
with  yellow  anthers,  too  many  to  count,  and  in  the 
middle  what  you  might  suppose  to  be  a  single  great 
pistil,  without  style  or  stigma,  but  in  reality  it  is  a 
multitude  of  very  small  ones  joined  together,  which 
will  all  become  separate  seeds  in  the  course  of  the 
summer.  How  delicate  the  flower  is  !  it  is  in  vain  to 
try  to  gather  it  for  a  nosegay,  for  it  is  sure  to  droop  its 
pretty  head  and  fade  before  it  can  be  brought  home, 
and  we  must  be  content  to  leave  them  in  their  bed  of 
fresh  green  moss,  and  brown,  crackling,  last  year’s 
leaves  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  studding  over  the  coppice 
like  so  many  white  stars. 

I  think  that  the  wood-anemone  may  put  us  in  mind 


14 


TIIE  HERB  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


of  some  quiet,  shy,  modest  girl,  who  makes  all  sunny 
and  happy  round  her  in  her  own  safe,  shaded  home ; 
while,  perhaps,  she  has  gayer  and  brighter  sisters  or 
cousins  who  can  do  their  work  as  well  in  less  sheltered 
scenes,  and  wear  their  company-robes  as  modestly  as 
she  her  humbler  dress. 

The  anemone  has  such  sisters — pretty  Miss  Iiepatica 
Anemone,  in  her  blue  or  pink  robe,  with  her  large, 
handsome  three-cleft,  dark-green  parasol,  is  one  of 
them ;  but  she  is  not  less  quiet  and  retiring  than  her 
woodland  sister,  for  she,  too,  hangs  down  her  head, 
and  hides  under  her  leaves  at  night ;  and,  somehow, 
she  always  prospers  more  in  a  cottage  garden  than  in 
grander  places,  perhaps  remembering  that  her  native 
home  is  on  the  Swiss  Mountains,  and  in  the  islands  of 
the  Baltic,  where  she  shoots  up  through  the  snow.  She 
is  the  first  spring  flower  of  the  Danes  and  Swedes. 

There  is  one  of  the  family,  however,  who  is  quite 
at  home  in  any  garden,  however  grand — Mr.  Poppy 
Anemone,  her  large,  handsome  brother,  with  his  multi¬ 
tude  of  black  stamens,  and  great  black  lump  of  pistils, 
the  styles  of  which  grow  so  thick  together  that  they 
seem  like  hair.  lie  has  an  endless  variety  of  beautiful 
dresses :  sometimes  he  appears  in  rich  scarlet,  some¬ 
times  in  crimson  or  purple,  and  sometimes  in  quite  a 
ladylike  robe  of  white,  trimmed  with  purple  or  pink, 
lie  is  a  great  friend  of  the  gardeners,  who  think  they 
can  get  him  to  do  anything  to  please  them,  and  persuade 
him  to  alter  his  shape,  wear  all  manner  of  flounces  and 
furbelows,  and  disguise  himself  in  such  strange  fashion 
that  his  best  friends  would  hardly  know  him  again. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  he  wastes  all  his  substance  in  thus 
doubling  the  folds  of  his  robes,  but  if  not,  after  about  a 
fortnight,  he  takes  off  all  his  beautiful  red  or  purple  gar¬ 
ments,  and  rolls  himself  up  in  his  plain  working  dress, 


15 


ANEMONE  AND  RANUNCULUS. 

very  like  a  grey  duffle  cloak.  By-and-bye,  the  grey  coat 
seems  to  come  unravelled,  just  as  if  you  were  to  undo 
a  knitted  glove,  and  it  will  prove  to  he  formed  of  a 
multitude  of  little  yellow  seeds,  each  with  its  own  white 
wing  of  cotton,  with  which,  if  left  to  itself,  it  would  fly 
away  to  seek  a  home ;  but  the  gardeners  are  on  the 
watch  for  them  and  catch  them,  that  they  may  take 
good  care  of  their  feeding  and  education,  so  that  they 
may  grow  up  as  fine,  or  finer,  gentlemen  than  their  father. 

I  have  read  a  description  in  a  book  of  travels  in  the 
Holy  Land,  of  the  country  near  the  sea  of  Galilee. 
The  ground,  early  in  the  spring,  is  covered  with  a 
thick,  close  carpet  of  crimson  anemones,  above  which 
are  a  number  of  half-withered  stems  of  grass.  Some¬ 
times,  through  a  narrow  opening  in  the  mountains, 
there  comes  a  sudden  gust  of  wind,  waving  aside  for  a 
moment  all  the  grass  in  the  line  of  its  course,  and 
showing  the  crimson  flowers  beneath,  so  that  it  seems 
like  a  mysterious  river  of  blood,  suddenly  appearing  for 
one  instant,  and  as  quickly  passing  away. 

Several  other  flowers  are  in  blossom  now,  belonging 
to  the  same  many-stamened  race  (called  by  botanists 
Polyandria*)  as  the  anemone.  First  there  is  the 
ranunculus  tribe,  and  you  will  wonder  to  hear  that 
these  are  no  other  than  your  old  golden  friends,  the 
buttercups,  kingcups,  or  crowfoot,  whichever  you  may 
usually  call  them.  There  they  are  with  their  five, 
glossy,  yellow  petals,  their  numerous  stamens,  and  their 
lump  of  little,  round,  horn-shaped  pistils.  They  have 
also  five  small  green  leaves  growing  under  the  petals, 
and  this  part  of  the  flower  is  called  the  calyx  or  cup. 
There  are  many  different  kinds — the  creeping  crowfoot, 
which  is  such  an  enemy  to  the  farmer  in  grass  fields, 
Polys,  many ;  andria,  stamens. 


16 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD, 


for  though  it  used  to  be  a  saying  that  buttercups  made 
the  butter  yellow,  this  is  quite  a  mistake,  for  you  may 
see  that  cattle  always  leave  the  stems  when  they  have 
eaten  the  grass  all  round ;  and  the  truth  is,  that  all 
plants  of  the  tribe  Polyandria,  that  is,  with  many 
stamens  growing  out  of  the  receptacle,  are  poisonous. 
Then  there  is  the  corn-crowfoot,  with  its  very  curious¬ 
toothed  and  jagged  seed-vessels,  and  the  white  water- 
crowfoot,  which  has  large,  tliree-cleft  leaves  to  float  on 
the  top  of  the  water,  and  serve  to  bear  it  up  there,  and 
also  thick  clusters  of  fibrous,  mossy  leaves,  to  keep 
under  water  and  suck  up  moisture  with.  It  varies  re¬ 
markably  in  size,  for  in  a  deep  running  stream,  or  large 
pond,  it  is  a  handsome  flower,  while  in  a  little  puddle 
or  gutter  it  is  so  very  small,  that  the  first  time  I  met 
with  it  I  could  scarcely  believe  it  to  be  the  same 
flower.  We  must  not  forget  the  earliest  of  all  butter¬ 
cups,  sometimes  called  pilewort,  and  sometimes  small 
celandine,  the  structure  of  which  is  different  from  the 
others,  in  order  to  suit  its  early  blossoming.  It  has  ten 
instead  of  five  petals,  and  three  divisions  in  the  calyx, 
and  the  reason  of  this  difference  is  believed  to  be  that 
it  may  be  better  able  to  close  over  and  protect  its 
stamens  and  pistils  in  case  of  early  frost.  I  have  a 
great  kindness  for  the  pilewort ;  for  its  sunny,  golden 
face,  coming  to  greet  us  so  early,  and  the  pretty  brown 
shading  outside ;  nor  are  its  shining,  heart-shaped 
leaves  devoid  of  beauty. 

Garden  ranunculuses  are  many ;  Bachelor’s  Buttons, 
also  called  Fair-Maids-of-France,  are  a  double  sort. 
The  French  call  them  Esperance,  or  hope  ;  and  when  St. 
Louis  was  a  captive  among  the  Mahometans  in  Egypt, 
and  could  write  no  letter  to  console  his  wife,  he  sent 
her  a  root  of  this  flower.  Its  name  told  her  to  hope  on 


PRIMROSES  AND  VIOLETS. 


17 


through  her  hard  trial.  The  great  scarlet  globe  ranun¬ 
culus  has  its  proper  home  in  Syria.  Another  April 
flower  of  the  same  class,  and  very  like  a  great  crowfoot, 
is  the  marsh  marigold ;  indeed,  the  only  differences  be¬ 
tween  it  and  the  ranunculi  are,  that  it  has  no  calyx, 
and  its  pistils  are  more  separated.  It  has  its  name 
from  having  been  used  to  dress  the  churches  on  the 
feast  of  the  Annunciation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary, 
from  Avhose  old  English  title  of  Our  Lady,  many  other 
floAvers  take  their  names. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MAY  FLOWERS. 

PRIMROSES  AND  VIOLETS. 

Do  you  know  what  a  pentagon  is  ? 

Probably  not,  so  here  is  one  to  show  you. 

It  is  a  mathematical  figure,  with  five  sides, 
and  five  angles  all  exactly  equal,  and  all 
at  the  same  distance  from  the  centre, 
and  very  troublesome  it  is  to  draw  one. 

But  what  has  it  to  do  with  flowers?  It  relates  to  them 
thus — that  it  sIioavs  the  beautiful  regularity  and  design 
Avhich  is  perceptible  through  all  the  Avorks  of  the  great 
Creator. 

Take  a  primrose,  or  a  periwinkle,  and  compare  it 
Avith  the  pentagon.  Five  gathered  into  one,  or  one 
divided  into  five ;  that,  as  you  Avill  soon  perceive,  is 
what  may  be  called  the  principle  upon  which  these, 
and  many  other  of  our  prettiest  floA\rers  are  formed. 
First,  the  primrose  has  a  calyx  all  in  one,  a  deep, 

2 


18 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


close,  hairy,  green  cup,  with  five  divisions,  and  five 
points.  This  incloses  a  corolla,*  also  all  in  one,  con¬ 
sisting  of  a  single  petal,  which  might  be  compared  to  a 
funnel,  as  it  has  a  long  narrow  pipe  or  throat,  fitting 
into  the  calyx  below,  and  above,  spreading  out  into  the 
five  divisions,  which,  at  first  sight,  one  would  almost 
take  for  separate  petals.  What  an  exquisite  colour  is 
theirs,  such  as  can  only  be  called  primrose-colour,  for  it 
is  so  delicate  that  it  is  like  no  other  yellow ;  and  what 
a  beautiful  little  mark  of  deeper  yellow  there  is  at  the 
lower  part  of  each,  so  as  to  make  another  little  penta¬ 
gon  round  the  throat,  corresponding  with  the  cleft  in 
the  middle  of  each  division  of  the  corolla !  How  won¬ 
derful  it  is  that  it  should  be  so  perfectly  regular,  with¬ 
out  being  stiff  or  formal ! 

The  end  of  the  throat  serves  as  a  nectary ;  there  is  a 
sweet  drop  of  juice  at  the  bottom,  as  the  little  tiny 
black  flies  that  creep  in  well  know,  and  so  do  the  spar¬ 
rows,  though  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  is  for  the  sake  of 
the  flies  or  of  the  honey  that  they  are  so  apt  to  pick  off 
the  heads  of  the  primroses,  and  leave  the  path  strewed 
with  them. 

The  more  important  parts  of  the  flower  are  within 
the  throat.  The  five  stamens,  which  have  very  short 
filaments,  raise  their  anthers  like  a  crown,  just  within, 
and  in  the  midst  is  the  pistil,  with  a  round  green  germ, 
a  tall  slender  style,  and  a  stigma  just  like  a  pin’s  head. 

The  stalks  are  of  a  very  pretty  pale  pink  colour,  and 
covered  with  down ;  the  leaves  all  grow  directly  from 
the  root,  without  leaf-stalks.  They  have  one  principal 
large  rib,  like  a  back- bone,  down  the  middle,  and  a 
number  of  branches  spreading  on  each  side  ;  and  these 

*  Corolla,  another  name  for  the  petals  or  coloured  part  of  the 
flower. 


PRIMROSES  AND  VIOLETS. 


19 


again  are  connected  with  each  other  by  lesser  veins, 
which  give  the  leaf  a  very  curious  crumpled  appearance. 
Nothing  is  prettier  than  a  fresh,  bright  bunch  of  prim¬ 
roses,  the  graceful  bending  stems  appearing  to  repose 
upon  the  green  leaves ;  and  no  plant  chooses  prettier 
places  for  growing ;  on  the  side  of  a  mossy  bank,  or 
niched  into  the  rugged  roots  of  some  old  tree.  There 
sits  the  sweet  pale  primrose,  seeming  almost  to  smile 
out  of  its  quiet  retreat,  and  giving  forth  a  delicious  mild 
fragrance,  that  seems  just  suitable  to  its  soft,  pure,  deli¬ 
cate  flower. 

Prime  rose  means  early  rose,  and  in  other  languages 
its  name  has  the  same  meaning.  The  French  call  it 
the  “  prime  vere,”  first  of  the  spring,  and  its  Latin 
name  is  Primula,  which  also  means  the  first. 

Primula  is,  in  fact,  the  family  name  of  the  primrose, 
and  its  numerous  relations,  the  first  English  one  of 
which  is  the  oxlip.  The  oxlip’s  Latin  name  is  Primula 
Elatior,  one  which  I  think  suits  it  very  well,  as  it  seems 
like  a  conceited  elated  primrose,  which  had  managed  to 
perch  itself  up  upon  a  second  set  of  stalks,  and  had 
thereby  grown  hard  and  formal,  without  the  delicate 
bending  grace  of  the  primrose;  and  it  is  curious  to  see 
how  like,  yet  how  much  less  pretty  it  is,  than  its  quiet 
retiring  sister.  Indeed,  botanists  are  not  quite  agreed 
whether  the  oxlip  is  really  an  aspiring  variety  of  the 
primrose,  or  a  distinct  species,  that  is  to  say,  sort  of 
flower. 

The  cowslip,  which  has  a  second  set  of  stems  by  na¬ 
ture,  is  a  much  more  modest  flower  ;  it  muffles  up  its 
throat  closely  in  its  long  large  calyx,  and  hangs  down 
its  head  so  as  to  form  one  of  the  bells,  which,  according 
to  a  pretty  German  fancy,  serve  to  ring  in  the  spring. 

“  In  the  cowslip’s  bell  I  lie,” 


20 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


says  the  fairy’s  song,  and  no  fairy  could  look  for  a  better- 
lined  palace,  or  a  more  sweetly-perfumed  one.  The 
corolla  is  like  soft  yellow  velvet,  and  in  each  division 
there  is  a  beautiful  red  spot,  as  if  to  set  off  the  rest. 
The  stamens  and  pistil  scarcely  vary  from  those  of  the 
primrose. 

Cowslips  can  hardly  be  thought  of  without  many  a 
sunny  remembrance  of  the  broad  green  meadows  where 
tliejr  may  be  gathered  by  handfuls,  and  the  borders  of 
coppices,  where,  having  a  richer  soil,  they  grow  so  much 
larger.  Oil !  the  pleasure  of  finding  a  noble,  great 
cowslip-plant,  with  four  or  five  stems,  and  perhaps  one 
of  them  with  as  many  as  seventeen  bells  !  Then  there 
is  sure  to  be  an  object  in  gathering  cowslips.  Perhaps 
it  ;s  for  a  garland,  perhaps  for  cowslip  tea,  though  1 
suspect  the  chief  niceness  in  that  is,  that  it  is  an  excuse 
for  having  the  pleasure  of  making  a  mess,  perhaps  for 
cowslip  wine,  or,  perhaps,  best  of  all,  for  a  cowslip 
ball. 

Oh  !  the  deliciously  sweet,  soft  thing !  Let  southern 
children  keep  their  citrons,  while  we  can  have  our  cow¬ 
slip  balls,  as  large,  as  yellow,  as  fragrant,  much  softer, 
and  giving  far  more  pleasure,  both  in  making  and  the 
using.  What  can  compare  with  the  delights  of  a  cowslip 
ball  ?  And  yet  it  may  be  a  trial  of  temper  too,  as  per¬ 
haps  you  may  have  found,  when  some  little  one  may 
have  nipped  off  her  stalks  too  short,  or  worse  still,  let 
go  the  string,  so  as  to  make  all  the  cowslips  fall  down. 
If  you  do  not  keep  your  temper  in  such  a  case,  even  a 
cowslip  ball  may  bring  a  painful  remembrance  with  it, 
but  I  will  hope  better  things  of  you,  that  so  your  balls 
may  have  as  sweet  an  odour  in  remembrance,  as  during 
their  short  life. 

Neither  primroses,  cowslips,  nor  oxlips  will  grow  in 


PRIMROSES  AND  VIOLETS. 


21 


all  the  counties  of  England  ;  and  there  is  a  fourth  rare 
sort,  of  a  purple  colour,  called  the  bird’s-eye  Primula, 
which  only  grows  in  the  north. 

Now  we  mention  purple  primroses,  the  common 
regular  primrose  may  be  made  to  turn  to  an  unwhole¬ 
some-looking,  pale  purple,  by  being  planted  in  richer 
soil ;  the  seeds  of  these  empurpled  primroses,  will  grow 
up  of  a  deeper  richer  colour,  sometimes  purple,  some¬ 
times  bright  red,  preserving  the  little  yellow  pentagon 
round  the  throat.  Again,  they  may  be  doubled,  and 
there  are  very  pretty  lilac  double  primroses,  white  ones 
too,  and  others  which  look  as  if  they  were  cut  out  oi 
crimson  velvet,  with  little  yellow  spots. 

The  cowslip  will  turn  scarlet  on  being  cultivated ; 
and  by  giving  the  pollen  of  the  coloured  primroses  to 
the  pistil  of  the  cowslip,  other  varieties  have  been  pro¬ 
duced.  That  odd  flower,  like  an  oxlip  with  a  frill  on, 
is  one,  and  another  is  that  curious  dweller  in  cottage- 
gardens,  called  Jack-in-a-box,  his  box  being  no  other 
than  his  calyx,  very  much  enlarged,  but  a  few  traces  of 
its  origin  still  remaining  in  the  green  marks  on  the 
edges. 

The  polyanthus  is  another  variety  of  the  cowslip,  and 
that  to  which  most  attention  has  been  paid.  Polyan¬ 
thus  fanciers  have  shows  of  them,  and  are  very  particu¬ 
lar  that  the  dark  spots  on  the  corolla  should  be  quite 
regular,  and  that  there  should  not  be  what  they  call  a 
pin-eye,  that  is,  that  the  pin-like  head  of  the  pistil 
should  not  appear  above  the  throat.  Other  people  may 
be  quite  contented  with  the  bright  yellow  and  brown 
polyanthus,  or  spring  flower,  as  it  is  called,  without 
caring  for  these  fancied  beauties. 

There  are  many  foreign  sorts  of  Primula.  They 
grow  in  great  beauty  on  the  Alps,  on  the  borders  of 


22 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


the  snow ;  and  many  sorts  have  been  brought  to 
England.  Auriculas,  which  name  means  little  ears, 
have  very  curious  powdery  centres,  and  are  of  nume¬ 
rous  colours — green,  yellow,  or  purple. 

The  last  to  be  mentioned  is  one  which  town  children 
are  likely  to  know,  though  they  may  never  have  seen 
a  real  English  primrose,  namely,  the  pretty  purple 
Chinese  primrose,  which  is  grown  in  pots,  and  often 
to  be  seen  at  windows,  turning  its  graceful  flowers 
towards  the  light.  It  is  exactly  like  the  wild  primrose 
in  shape,  though  the  colour  varies  from  deep  lilac  to 
pure  white,  and  the  leaves  are  of  very  different  shape. 
These  early  spring  flowers  almost  all  have  leaves 
springing  from  the  root,  instead  of  the  stem,  perhaps 
that  they  may  grow  up  in  shorter  time. 

Another  of  the  pentagon  flowers  is  the  periwinkle, 
the  most  regular  perhaps  of  them  all.  The  throat  of 
this  pretty  flower  is  furnished  with  a  soft  white  down, 
and  the  pistil  in  the  middle  is  one  of  the  most  exqui¬ 
sitely-formed  things  that  can  be  seen  anywhere.  Look 
at  the  green  germ  in  five  divisions,  the  taper  little 
brown  style,  and  the  wonderfully  beautiful  stigma,  like 
a  white  downy  flower  within  a  flower,  or,  perhaps, 
more  like  a  very  small  model  of  a  round  brush.  And 
the  down  is  very  useful  in  collecting  the  pollen,  and 
conducting  it  to  the  germ. 

If  you  have  a  periwinkle  copse  near  you,  pray  go  to 
it,  and  admire  the  bright  blue  eyes  of  the  flowers 
peeping  out  among  the  long  wreaths  of  leaves.  The 
stems  throw  themselves  out  to  a  great  length,  and 
take  root  in  the  earth  again,  so  as  to  make  a  net¬ 
work,  in  which  you  might  chance  to  entangle  your  foot 
and  get  a  fall.  Pull  up  one  of  these,  and  you  will 


PRIMROSES  AND  VIOLETS. 


23 


see  the  little  white  root  it  is  throwing  out  to  lay  hold 
of  the  ground  with. 

These  long  wreaths  seldom  blossom,  unless  some¬ 
times  they  do  so  in  despair,  because  they  cannot  find 
the  way  to  root  themselves  in  the  earth.  The  main 
root  puts  up  little  straight  shoots  which  bear  the  buds 
and  blossoms  in  the  early  spring,  and  when  their 
flowering-time  is  over,  stretch  themselves  out  into 
wreaths.  The  leaves  grow  opposite  to  each  other  in 
pairs,  and  owing  to  their  thicker  and  more  substantial 
structure,  retain  so  much  sap,  that  they  remain  on  all 
the  winter,  and  the  flower  is  to  be  found  in  blossom 
nearly  through  the  whole  year,  though  its  full  glory  is 
in  April  and  May.  At  the  end  of  each  long  creeping 
shoot,  there  grow  two  pair  of  leaves  just  opposite  to 
each  other,  and  setting  out  so  as  to  form  a  pretty  green 
cross. 

One  of  the  prettiest  May  garlands  I  ever  saw  was 
ornamented  with  long  strings  of  periwinkles,  threaded 
alternately  with  cowslips,  hanging  in  festoons  all  round 
it.  In  Italy,  the  blue  eyes  of  the  periwinkle  do  not 
seem  to  the  people  to  have  the  same  joyous  look  as 
they  have  here.  The  call  it  the  flower  of  death,  be¬ 
cause  it  is  used  to  put  round  the  heads  of  little  children 
who  die  young,  when  they  are  carried  to  their  graves. 
They  are  not  put  into  coffins,  but  are  dressed  in  white 
frocks,  a  cross  is  put  between  their  hands  upon  their 
breast,  and  with  a  wreath  of  the  blue  flowers  round 
their  hair,  they  are  carried  to  church,  and  there  lie 
looking  like  wax,  till  the  Psalms  and  prayers  are  read 
over  them,  and  they  are  laid  in  their  resting-places.  I 
suppose  the  periwinkle  is  chosen,  because  it  is  so  frail 
and  fading  a  flower. 

If  you  have  a  river  near  you,  with  marshes  round 


24 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


it,  perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  find  a  beautiful  pen¬ 
tagon  flower,  the  bog-bean,  more  elegantly,  though 
less  correctly,  called  the  fringed  lily.  Less  correctly, 
I  say,  because  all  true  lilies  have  six  stamens,  and  six 
petals,  and  I  hope  the  children  who  read  these  chapters 
may  learn  a  little  more  about  flowers  than  to  call  every 
thing  a  lily,  even  to  a  white  convolvolus,  or  still  worse, 
a  cowslip. 

The  delicate  pink  and  white  petals  of  the  bog-bean, 
are  crested  with  curious  white  curling  fringes,  from  the 
midst  of  which  peep  out  the  five  black  anthers  at 
regular  distances,  like  the  angles  of  a  pentagon.  Did 
you  ever  see  a  more  elegant  flower  ?  I  wish  its  delicate 
fringes  would  not  shrivel  and  turn  brown  so  very  soon 
after  it  is  gathered — but  so  it  is — pure  and  delicate 
things  cannot  bear  to  be  rudely  touched  and  examined. 

Here,  too,  is  comfrey,  with  its  prickly  leaves,  and 
bells  of  all  shades  from  purple  to  white.  Ah !  and 
how  could  we  pass  by  the  little  bright  blue  turquoise 
of  a  flower,  that  seems  to  call  out,  “  Forget  me  not  !” 
Do  you  know  the  story  of  its  name?  How  a  lady 
begged  her  lover  to  gather  it  for  her,  and  while  reach¬ 
ing  it,  he  fell  into  the  water,  and  was  drowned,  calling 
out  as  the  flower  floated  near  her,  u  Forget  me  not !” 

Its  proper  learned  name  is  mouse-ear-scorpion  grass, 
because  of  its  pricking,  clinging  leaves  and  stems,  and 
this  is,  too,  the  name  of  the  smaller  sort  in  the  lanes 
and  woods,  forget-me-not  being  only  the  appellation  of 
the  large  river  kind. 

When  Henry  of  Lancaster,  afterwards  King  Henry  IV., 
was  sent  into  exile,  he  gave  his  friends  in  England  the 
forget-me-not  flower,  formed  of  jewels,  and  with  the 
two  letters  SS.,  which  stand  for  the  French  words  Se 
Souvenir ,  meaning  “  remember,”  so  that  this  plant  must 


PRIMROSES  AND  VIOLETS. 


25 


have  had  its  name  long  ago.  Some  people  think  it 
good  for  the  whooping-cough. 

This  has  been  a  long  chapter,  but  I  should  be  show¬ 
ing  no  due  honour  to  the  sweet  violet,  and  the  painted 
heart’s-ease,  if  I  passed  them  over.  They  are  sisters, 
though  you  would  scarcely  have  guessed  it,  the  name 
of  both  is  Viola,  and  they  may  be  reckoned  as  pen¬ 
tagon  flowers,  since  they  have  five  calyx  leaves,  five 
petals,  and  five  stamens.  The  two  upper  petals  stand 
upright,  the  two  next  are  rather  smaller,  and  opposite 
to  each  other,  the  louver  one  has  in  front  a  large  full 
lip,  and  behind,  a  curious  sort  of  heel  or  spur  which 
is  fastened  to  the  calyx,  holds  the  ends  of  the  other 
petals,  and  serves  as  the  nectary,  where  resides  the 
honey  which  causes  the  sweet  smell. 

The  stamens  all  meet  in  a  point  around  the  little 
round-headed  pistil,  and  they  are  beautifully  protected 
by  the  crests  which  grow  on  the  inner  side  of  the  two 
middle  petals.  These  crests  are  larger  and  more  re¬ 
markable  in  the  dog-violet  than  in  any  other  species, 
and,  indeed,  I  think  the  poor  dog-violet  is  rather  un¬ 
justly  despised.  Look  at  its  grey  flowers,  with  their 
black  streaks,  and  bright  eyes,  perched  in  their  beds  of 
moss,  and  so  abundant,  and  so  varying  in  tint,  that  if 
you  were  to  gather  only  one  of  each  variety  as  you 
passed  through  but  one  coppice,  you  would  soon  have 
a  very  handsome  nosegay. 

Every  one  knows  and  cares  for  the  sweet  violet,  blue, 
white,  and  of  a  certain  odd  red  variety,  and  the  only 
doubt  is,  whether  people  think  the  blue  or  the  white 
the  sweetest.  They  are  of  the  same  species,  only  the 
colour  varies  according  to  the  soil  in  which  they  grow, 
the  white  liking  clay,  and  the  blue  or  real  violet-colour, 
preferring  chalk,  so  that  I  have  sometimes  been  able  to 


26 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


tell  which  way  the  school-girls  have  been  walking,  by 
the  nosegays  they  have  brought  me. 

Next  comes  the  larger,  handsomer  Viola,  though, 
after  all,  the  wild  heart’s-ease  of  the  south  of  England 
is  not  much  larger  than  the  dog-violet,  when  you  find 
its  pale  cream-coloured  flower  in  the  long  grass  of  a 
fallow-field.  Even  then  it  has  some  little  dark  streaks 
near  the  centre,  and  now  and  then  a  purplish  stain  on 
its  two  upper  petals,  and  in  the  north  it  grows  much 
larger,  has  the  purple  and  yellow  much  brighter,  and  is 
far  more  like  our  garden  flower. 

Both  those  wild  varieties  have  long  narrow  leaves, 
with  curiously  cut  and  carved  wings  growing  on  each 
side  of  them,  and  their  seed-vessel  is  a  pretty  little  box 
divided  into  three. 

The  garden  heart’s-ease  is  produced  partly  from 
these,  and  partly  from  one  which  grows  wild  on  the 
Altai  Mountains,  in  Asia.  The  one  I  hold  in  my  hand 
is  quite  a  common  sort,  with  no  fine  name,  but  only 
listen  to  its  description.  The  upper  petals,  large  and 
rounded,  are  of  a  splendid  deep  velvety  purple,  the 
lower  pair  are  exactly  alike,  the  ground  pale  cream- 
colour,  the  outer  part  marked  with  a  large  purple  spot, 
the  inner  part  with  a  still  darker  cluster  of  purple 
dashes,  spreading  out  on  either  side.  The  lowest  petal 
is  likewise  cream-colour,  but  with  a  large  yellow  mark 
in  the  centre,  bordered  with  purple  lines,  and  imme¬ 
diately  below  it  another  purple  spot.  Can  anything  be 
more  elaborately  marked? 

What  empress  in  all  her  splendour  ever  found  purple 
to  compare  with  the  richness  of  a  heart’s-ease  ?  The 
sort  which  gardeners  call  the  Black  Prince  is  very 
large,  and  entirely  of  this  deepest  purple,  except  a 
little  yellow  near  the  eye,  and  a  glorious  flower  it  is. 


THE  APPLE  AND  THE  ROSE. 


27 


There  are  others  all  yellow,  and  some  with  a  narrow 
blue  line  all  round  the  edge,  but  for  the  most  part 
they  are  of  purple  and  yellow  mixed,  and  sometimes 
put  us  in  mind  of  a  cat’s  face,  the  eyes,  whiskers,  and 
ears  being  all  clearly  marked  ;  sometimes,  too,  of  a 
man,  with  a  purple  cap  on  his  head,  and  a  beard  on 
his  chin. 

It  is  probably  to  the  very  smiling  lace  of  this  purple- 
capped  gentleman,  that  the  llower  owes  its  name  of 
heart’s-ease.  Village  children  generally  call  it  love- 
anidles,  which  unmeaning  word  they  have  made  out 
of  its  old  English  name  of  love-in-idleness.  It  is  also 
called  pansey,  from  the  French  pensee,  a  thought,  and 
sometimes  by  the  very  funny  name  of  three-faces- 
under-one-hood. 


CHAPTER  V. 

JUNE  FLOWERS. 

THE  APPLE  AND  TIIE  ROSE. 

June  is  come,  and  the  rugged,  crooked  thorns,  which  all 
the  winter  looked  like  worn,  bent,  hoary  old  men,  are 
now  come  out  like  fair  young  maidens,  in  robes  of  green 
and  veils  of  white ;  and  as  then  the  old  gentlemen  re¬ 
minded  us  of  summer  by  wearing  here  and  there  a  bunch 
of  green  mistletoe,  so  now  the  young  ladies  remind  us 
of  winter  by  wearing  their  white  like  snow  upon  the 
branches.  Very  like  snow  indeed,  as  you  will  find  if 
you  go  and  stand  under  the  tree,  for  the  wind  brings 
down  whole  showers  of  the  petals  on  the  grass  below. 


28 


THE  IIEKB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


What  is  the  inside  of  the  flower  like  ?  The  structure 
may  be  seen  enlarged  in  the  apple-blossom,  or  the  wild 
rose,  and  it  will  be  easier  to  understand  if  we  look  at 
them.  Here  is  a  wild  crab,  that  will  not  be  too  crabbed 
to  spare  us  a  branch  of  pink  and  white  flowers.  What 
a  multitude  of  yellow  stamens  !  But  I  thought  you  said, 
when  you  told  us  about  the  buttercup,  that  all  the 
many-stamened  flowers,  which  you  called  by  a  hard 
name  beginning  with  po!>/,  were  poisonous,  and  how 
can  that  be  if  the  apple  is  one  of  them  ? 

Well,  you  are  right,  I  did  say  that  all  the  polyandria, 
or  many-stamened  class,  were  poisonous,  but  look  here. 
Gather  a  buttercup  from  under  your  feet,  or  look  in  the 
next  field  for  a  scarlet  poppy,  I  dare  say  there  are  more 
there  than  the  farmer  wishes,  in  spite  of  their  gay  red 
coats. 

Now  pull  off  the  calyx  of  the  crowfoot.  It  does  not 
make  much  difference  to  the  flower,  and  none  at  all  to 
the  stamens.  As  to  the  poppy,  it  only  used  its  calyx 
for  a  night-cap,  when  it  was  in  bud,  and  ungratefully 
split  it  in  two,  and  threw  it  away,  as  soon  as  it  opened 
to  daylight.  You  may  see  some  in  the  act  of  perform¬ 
ing  this  operation,  the  calyx  already  parted  from  the 
stem,  and  the  scarlet  petals  crumpled  up  within  it. 

But  how  shall  we  pull  off  the  calyx  of  the  rose  or 
apple  blossom  ?  It  will  not  come  without  pulling  the 
whole  flower  to  pieces,  nay,  it  even  seems  a  part  of  this 
great  solid  green  lump  on  which  the  whole  is  perched. 

This  is  the  difference,  knowing  which,  you  could  tell 
what  plants  might  safely  be  eaten  if  you  wrere  cast  on  a 
desert  island,  with  no  monkey  to  taste  for  you.  All  the 
plants  which  have  stamens  growing  out  of  the  calyx 
are  harmless,  all  those  which  can  spare  their  calyx 
without  injury  to  the  stamens  are  hurtful. 


THE  APPLE  AND  THE  KOSE. 


20 


Besides,  how  different  the  seed-vessel  is.  The 
poppy’s  great  pistil  is  like  an  urn,  and  when  the  seed  is 
ripe,  the  upper  part  rises  up  on  little  supports  all  round, 
so  as  to  let  out  the  seed,  and  the  cover  is  beautifully 
ornamented. 

But  what  is  the  seed-vessel  of  the  apple-tree  ?  Who 
can  tell?  Yet  in  autumn  you  have  a  great  liking  for 
that  same  seed-vessel,  which  now  you  cannot  even  re¬ 
collect.  Must  I  describe  it?  The  seeds  are  ten  in 
number,  in  pairs,  within  five  cells  formed  of  two  valves, 
all  enclosed  within  a  globe,  fleshy,  covered  with  a  green 
rind,  with  a  slight  tinge  of  red. 

Ah!  ha!  The  apple  itself!  Yes  to  be  sure,  and  the 
pips  are  the  seeds,  and  the  core  the  valves  forming  the 
cells.  There  is  a  discovery  for  you,  which  I  dare  say 
you  will  remember  when  you  screw  up  your  eyes,  next 
autumn,  with  eating  sharp  apples,  and  find  a  hard  piece 
of  core  in  your  mouth.  Perhaps  then  you  will  look  for 
the  calyx,  and  you  will  find  it  risen  in  the  world, 
mounted  up  on  the  top  of  the  apple,  forming  what 
people  call  the  eye,  very  much  shrivelled  and  very 
small. 

As  to  the  young  apple,  it  is  no  other  than  the  large 
round  germ  beneath  the  flower,  from  which  the  calyx 
seems  to  grow.  It  is  in  fact  five  germs  grown  together, 
each  contributing  two  pips,  and  a  fifth  part  of  the  apple 
and  their  five  styles  and  stigmas  are  to  be  seen  above, 
in  the  midst  of  their  rich  nest  of  yellow  stamens,  and 
the  outer  walls  of  beautiful  blushing  pink  and  white, 
which  are  so  lightly  fastened  on  that  they  are  soon 
blown  away. 

How  great  is  the  kindness  which  has  dressed  our 
useful  friend  in  such  robes  as  these  !  Nor  is  the  apple- 
tree  less  beautiful  in  his  autumn  garb,  gnarled  and 


30 


TIIE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


crooked  though  lie  he.  Who  would  wish  to  see  any¬ 
thing  much  prettier  than  the  red,  yellow,  and  green 
apples  that  dot  his  branches  all  over  ?  Some  sorts  in 
shining  smooth  crimson,  some  red  shading  into  green, 
some  red  and  yellow,  some  so  pure  and  fair  a  green  and 
pink  that  it  reminds  one  of  a  delicate  cheek  ;  some 
again  little  crumpled  things  in  russet  brown,  and  green 
or  old  worn-out  yellow.  And  as  apple-eaters  soon 
learn,  they  are  an  excellent  lesson  not  to  trust  too  much 
to  the  outside. 

In  counties  where  cider  is  made,  the  glory  of  the 
apple-tree  descends  in  time,  and  huge  piles  of  golden 
red  and  yellow  are  heaped  up  on  the  grass  at  the  foot 
of  the  trees.  Sometimes  these  piles  have  beautiful 
visitors,  the  great  Red  Admiral  butterflies,  with  their 
brown  velvet  wings,  edged  with  scarlet,  and  brightened 
with  white,  sometimes  come  in  great  numbers  to  flutter 
over  them.  I  have  counted  as  many  as  sixty  of  these 
beautiful  creatures  at  one  heap,  some  flying,  others  at 
rest,  slowly  opening  and  closing  their  wings  to  enjoy 
the  heat  of  the  sun. 

The  pear  is  almost  exactly  like  the  apple  in  the 
structure  of  both  flower  and  fruit.  In  the  perry¬ 
making  counties,  the  trees  stand  up  alone  in  the  fields, 
and  raise  their  white  garlands  after  a  glorious  manner 
against  the  blue  summer  sky. 

The  cherry,  the  apricot,  peach,  and  nectarine,  all  are 
of  the  same  family.  None  of  these,  as  you  well  know, 
if  sprung  from  seed,  will  produce  good  fruit,  unless  they 
are  grafted  with  a  branch  from  a  better  tree,  which  is 
set  into  their  stem,  plastered  over  with  clay,  and  in 
time  is  joined  on  so  as  to  make  one  with  them,  so  that 
being  nourished  with  their  sap,  it  grows,  and  brings 
fruit  like  its  own  parent  tree.  Even  the  seed  of  a  good 


TIIE  APPLE  AND  THE  ROSE. 


31 


apple  would,  if  ungrafted,  produce  only  sour  worthless 
crabs. 

Is  not  this  like  ourselves,  born  wild  and  worthless, 
but  with  grace  planted  in  our  hearts  at  baptism,  so  as 
to  enable  us  to  bring  forth  good,  not  “  wild  fruit?”  and 
should  not  the  grafting  of  a  tree  put  us  in  mind  to  pray 
that  God  will  “  graft  in  our  hearts  the  love  of  Ilis 
name,  increase  us  in  true  religion,  and  nourish  us  with 
all  goodness?” 

The  laurel,  and  the  Portugal  laurel,  with  their  pretty 
spikes  of  white  blossoms  and  evergreen  leaves,  are 
brethren  of  the  apple,  though  I  would  not  advise  you  to 
eat  their  purple  berries,  as  though  not  actually  poison¬ 
ous,  they  are  not  very  wholesome.  Indeed,  out  of  the 
seeds  of  all  this  tribe  may  be  extracted  the  deadly  poison 
called  prussic  acid,  not  that  there  is  enough  in  any  of 
them  to  do  us  the  least  harm,  and  it  is  this  very  small 
quantity  that  gives  the  pleasant  flavour  to  peach 
kernels,  laurel  leaves,  almonds,  and  even  hazel  nuts. 

Now  we  have  had  our  own  fruit-trees,  we  must  not 
forget  the  birds’  fruit-trees,  the  store  provided  for  those 
which  gather  not  into  barns.  Yes,  our  heavenly  Father 
feedeth  them,  for  these  white  May  blossoms,  which  de¬ 
light  our  eyes  in  the  spring,  will,  by-and-bye,  be  scarlet 
haws  for  their  food,  and  the  white  blossom  of  the  black 
thorn  which  came  with  the  cold  wind  of  spring,  is 
turning  already  to  a  purple  sloe,  or  wild  plum. 

Haws  put  us  in  mind  of  hips,  and  with  them  we 
come  back  to  the  wild  rose,  below  the  flower  of  which 
you  may  already  see  the  beginning  of  what  botany  books 
are  pleased  to  call  the  pitcher-shaped  fruit,  though  I  can 
see  very  little  of  such  shape  in  it.  At  present  it  verifies 
the  proverb,  “little  pitchers  have  long  ears”  (I  hope 
you  have  not  in  the  sense  the  proverb  means)  for  it  has 


32 


THE  IIEKB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


five  most  beautiful,  long,  graceful,  fringed  leaflets,  which 
form  the  especial  grace  and  beauty  both  of  the  rose  and 
bud.  There  is  a  peculiarity  about  these  leaflets  which 
is  prettily  expressed  in  this  riddle  : — 

“  Of  us  five  brothers  at  the  same  time  born, 

Two,  from  our  birthday,  ever  beards  have  worn ; 

On  other  two,  none  ever  have  appeared, 

While  the  fifth  brother  wears  but  half  a  beard.” 

This  is  a  fine  puzzle  for  most  people,  but  if  you  cannot 
make  it  out  with  a  rose  calyx  before  your  eyes,  I  think 
you  must  be  rather  dull. 

Admire  the  five  pretty  cleft  petals  of  the  flower,  and 
see  how  their  tints  vary,  some  so  snowy  white,  some  so 
deep  and  delicate  a  pink,  and  is  there  anywhere  to  be 
seen  anything  more  graceful  and  lovely  than  those  long 
bending  wreaths,  covered  with  the  elegant  leaves,  each 
consisting  of  five  serrated  leaflets,  two  pair  opposite, 
and  one  at  the  point?  And  the  deep  pink  buds  in  their 
bowers,  and  the  more  fully  opened  blossoms,  and  even 
the  bunch  of  stamens  which  has  lost  its  petals,  and 
doubled  back  its  leaflets,  how  pretty  they  all  are,  and 
how  well  they  ornament  the  hedge  ! 

It  may  be  that  you  can  find  the  sweet  briar  or 
eglantine  growing  wild,  with  its  pink  flowers,  and  de¬ 
licious  leaves,  and  even  some  of  the  dog-roses  have 
slightly  fragrant  leaves.  There  are  no  less  than  twenty- 
two  sorts  of  roses  growing  wild  in  this  island  of  ours, 
the  difference  between  them  being  principally  marked 
by  the  form  of  the  fruit,  of  the  leaf,  and  of  the  thorns. 
Scottish  roses  are  more  deeply  coloured  than  English 
ones,  and  more  briary. 

Scottish  roses  bring  us  into  the  garden,  and  where 
shall  we  stop  now?  See  the  flame-coloured  Austrian 
briar  spread  itself  over  the  house  and  show  its  beau- 


THE  APPLE  AND  THE  ROSE. 


33 


teous  blossoms,  yellow  outside,  and  orange  within. 
See  the  sweet  little  Banksia  climb  still  higher,  and 
fling  its  luxuriant  wreaths  even  round  the  very  chim¬ 
neys  ;  see  the  dark  red  China  cluster  round  the  cot¬ 
tage  window,  almost  a  sure  token  that  content  and 
cleanliness  are  within. 

Yes,  roses  must  be  pardoned  for  being  double,  since 
their  office  is  to  be  fragrant  and  beautiful,  and  while 
their  relations  have  improved  their  fruit  for  our  taste, 
they  have  improved  their  blossom  for  two  of  our  other 
senses,  till  the  rose  is  owned  as  the  queen  of  flowers. 

The  honest  old  round  cabbage  rose,  solid,  and  with  a 
depth  of  healthy  sweetness  which  invites  you  to  plunge 
your  nose  far  into  the  deep  pink  cup ;  the  moss  rose, 
with  the  calyx  crusted  over  with  thick  mossy  hairs,  so 
as  to  form  those  surpassingly  lovely  buds  ;  the  snowy 
Provence  rose ;  the  dark  velvety  damask ;  these  are 
the  oldest,  and  the  best  loved,  though  there  are  multi¬ 
tudes  of  new  choice  ones  grown  in  costly  gardens. 

The  Provence  rose  was  first  grown  by  King  Rene, 
Count  of  Provence,  and  father  of  our  Queen  Margaret 
of  Anjou,  so  that  it  seems  as  if  our  red-rose  queen 
ought  to  have  changed  colours  with  her  enemies  of  the 
white-rose  party.  The  red-and- white  striped  York- 
and-Lancaster  rose,  always  puts  us  in  mind  of  the  end¬ 
ing  of  those  bloody  wars  by  the  marriage  of  Henry 
VII.  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 

Henry  VIII.  used  as  his  badge  the  York-and-Lan- 
caster  rose,  which,  whenever  we  see  it  carved  in  the 
buildings  of  his  time,  always  looks  as  square  and  broad- 
faced  as  the  king  himself.  The  white  rose,  long  after, 
was  worn  by  the  Scottish  Jacobites,  as  a  token  of  the 
hereditary  right  of  the  Stuarts. 

The  damask  rose  is  properly  the  rose  of  Damascus, 


34 


THE  IIEKB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


the  most  famous  place  in  the  world  for  roses,  where  the 
perfume  called  u  attar  of  roses”  is  made.  At  Shiraz, 
in  Persia,  this  scent  is  also  distilled,  and  there  you 
may  literally  sleep  on  a  bed  of  roses,  whole  rooms 
being  filled  with  the  delicious  petals.  China  is  full  of 
roses,  and  it  is  the  amusement  of  the  Chinese  gardeners 
to  dwarf  their  growth,  so  as  to  make  them,  flowers, 
leaves,  stem  and  all,  so  small  that  you  would  call  them 
doll’s  flowers,  and  think  them  fit  to  put  into  a  baby- 
house. 

The  pink  China  rose,  though  not  so  pretty  as  its 
sisters,  blows  so  early  and  so  late  that  it  is  valuable. 
It  is  remarkable  that  all  the  northern  roses  have  their 
styles  well  protected  with  down,  while  all  the  southern 
ones  are  bare,  to  suit  their  warmer  climates.  Though 
Asia  is  full  of  roses,  it  is  surprising  that  not  one  has 
ever  been  found  growing  wild  in  America. 

The  beautiful  fragrant  and  fruit-bearing  tribe  of 
plants  of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  are  those,  how¬ 
ever,  which  chiefly  remind  us  of  the  curse  of  Adam, 
since  they  are  also  the  thorn-bearers.  “  No  rose  with¬ 
out  a  thorn,”  has  often  been  remembered  by  those  who 
have  scratched  their  fingers,  or  who  have  found  pain 
where  they  expected  pleasure.  But  as  joy  often  comes 
out  of  grief,  and  happiness  out  of  well-endured  punish¬ 
ment,  so  even  the  chief  of  thorns,  the  bramble,  the 
most  despised  of  plants,  has  fruit  to  yield  us,  the  juicy 
dewberry  and  shining  blackberry.  And  very  hand¬ 
some  is  a  bramble-bush  in  Autumn  adorned  with  its 
fruit,  the  ripe  so  polished  a  black,  the  unripe  so  bright 
a  red.  Who  does  not  like  blackberry  picking  1 

In  the  case  of  the  bramble-blossom,  if  you  venture 
to  gather  it  you  will  find  the  numerous  cluster  of  germs 
within  the  corolla.  Each  germ  afterwards  becomes  a 


THE  APPLE  AND  THE  ROSE. 


35 


single  seed  inclosed  in  dark  purple  fleshy  pulp,  and  all  sit 
together  on  the  receptacle  which  rises  up  in  the  middle  of 
them,  like  a  Anger  under  a  thimble,  or  a  head  in  a  cap. 

The  raspberry  is  a  brother  of  the  blackberry,  and 
is  very  like  it,  only  the  petals  are  hardly  visible,  and 
the  fruit  is  more  juicy  and  larger.  In  America,  when 
a  piece  of  ground  is  cleared  by  burning,  the  first  thing 
that  comes  up  after  the  fire,  is  always  a  crop  of  wild 
raspberries  of  delicious  flavour. 

What  is  here  called  the  American  raspberry  is  not, 
however,  very  good  to  eat,  and  is  only  grown  in  shrub¬ 
beries  for  the  sake  of  its  large  pink  flowers,  and  hand¬ 
some  leaves,  which  are  much  more  agreeable  than 
those  of  the  bramble,  or  raspberry  bush,  which  have 
the  hooked  thorns  all  along  their  main  stem. 

Last  of  all,  we  must  give  a  word  to  the  humble 
strawberry  blossom,  with  its  white  petals,  and  yellow 
stamens.  It  likewise  has  many  germs,  which  become 
the  little  seeds  on  the  outside  of  the  fruit,  the  fruit 
itself  being  in  reality  the  enlarged  receptacle  which 
has  taken  them  up,  off  their  feet,  as  it  were,  and  raised 
them  on  high.  The  calyx,  and  sometimes  even  a  stray 
petal,  may  be  found  below. 

Hunting  for  wood-strawberries  is  pleasant  work,  and 
so  is  the  stringing  them  all  in  a  row  on  a  long  piece  of 
grass,  where  they  look  like  red-and-white  beads,  the 
more  unripe  the  better,  as  they  are  not  quite  so  soft. 
And  eating  them  is  very  pleasant  too  on  a  hot  sum¬ 
mer’s  day.  Certainly  we  have  a  great  deal  to  thank 
this  trib^T  for,  and  now  we  have  dwelt  upon  it  so  long, 
perhaps  you  will  feel  gratitude  enough  to  it  to  remem¬ 
ber  its  long  name,  “  Icosandria,”  or  twenty  stamens, 
and  mind  that  you  do  not  confound  it  with  its  venom¬ 
ous  neighbour,  polyandria. 


36 


THE  IIEP.B  OF  THE  FIELD. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JULY  FLOWERS. 

BUTTERFLY  FLOWERS. 

Go  into  the  kitchen -garden,  and  look  at  the  rows  of 
peas,  and  tell  me  what  you  see  there. 

I  see  a  number  of  pea-plants  climbing  on  their  sticks  ; 
there  are  peas  upon  them,  some  not  quite  filled  out,  and 
some  eaten  by  the  birds,  and  there  are  some  white 
flowers  still. 

And  what  do  you  think  those  white  flowers  are  most 
like?  I  see  something  in  the  air  looking  very  much 
as  if  one  of  them  had  taken  wing  and  flown  away. 
Ah !  it  is  a  white  butterfly !  Well,  peas-blossom  and 
all  its  company  are  called  Papilionaceous  flowers,  from 
Papilio,  which  in  Latin  means  butterfly ;  but  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  would  not  rather  call  them  boat-flowers, 
as  you  will  see  when  we  come  to  look  into  them. 

These  white  peas-blossoms  are  rather  too  useful  to 
be  gathered,  so  perhaps  we  had  better  go  to  the  flower- 
garden  for  their  gayer,  though  less  valuable  sister,  the 
sweet-pea,  a  Sicilian  lady,  who  has  only  come  to  live  in 
England  within  the  last  two  hundred  years. 

She  has  but  a  weak,  feeble,  climbing  stem,  which 
must  lay  hold  of  something;  and  to  give  it  more  breadth, 
so  that  it  may  be  firmer,  it  has  a  sort  of  long  leaf  grow¬ 
ing  on  to  it  at  each  side,  which  is  called  a  wing.  It 
also  has  the  power  of  putting  out  tendrils,  or  feelers, 
which  twist  about  spirally,  that  is  to  say,  like  a  cork¬ 
screw,  till  they  find  something  to  lay  hold  of,  and  then 
bind  themselves  on  to  it  fast  and  firmly.  Sometimes 


BUTTERFLY  FLOWERS. 


37 


two  tendrils  make  a  mistake,  and  get  hold  of  each 
other,  and  then  they  coil  about  and  get  marvellously 
twisted. 

The  leaves  are  in  pairs  at  the  joints  of  the  stem,  the 
blossoms,  for  the  most  part,  grow  singly  on  very  slen¬ 
der  footstalks,  and  there  is  good  reason  for  the  slender¬ 
ness  of  these  stalks,  as  you  will  presently  see. 

Each  bears  a  calyx  of  one  leaf,  ending  in  five  points, 
and  if  we  strip  off  this  calyx  carefully,  we  shall  see 
that  it  contains  live  petals,  each  with  a  little  foot  to 
fasten  it  to  the  receptacle. 

The  first  of  these  petals  is  this  handsome,  deep  crim¬ 
son  one,  which  looks  as  if  it  had  been  folded  in  the 
middle.  And  if  you  look  at  the  bud,  you  will  see  that 
so  it  really  was,  for  this  petal  is  doubled  over  the  others 
like  a  curtain,  before  the  blossom  opens.  Its  name  is 
the  standard,  because  it  stands  up  above  the  rest,  and 
shows  its  colours  so  boldly ;  but  it  might  also  be  called 
the  sail,  for  it  answers  the  purpose  of  one ;  the  wind 
blows  it  round,  so  that  it  always  keeps  its  back  to  the 
bad  weather,  and  serves  as  a  shield  to  the  delicate 
parts  within. 

Two  long,  narrow,  purple  petals  project  in  front  of 
the  standard,  and  bend  towards  each  other,  so  as  nearly 
to  meet ;  these  are  the  wings,  folding  together  so  as  to 
guard  the  innermost  part.  Within  them  is  the  little 
boat  itself,  which  is  called  the  keel,  and  is  greenish 
white.  Is  it  not  beautifully  shaped,  the  sharp  ridge 
along  the  bottom,  with  the  little  beak  at  the  end  for 
the  prow  ?  It  is  j  ust  such  a  boat  as  one  might  fancy 
the  king  of  the  fairies  floating  along  in  by  moonlight, 
with  his  crimson  velvet  standard  serving  at  once  for 
his  flag  and  his  sail. 

And  perhaps  the  queen  of  the  fairies  might  sail  by 


38 


THE  HERB  OP  THE  FIELD. 


his  side,  in  the  pearly  nautilus-like  keel  of  the  painted 
lady-pea,  with  the  pink  standard  unfurled  to  the  wind. 
However,  while  we  are  fancying  all  this,  we  are  for¬ 
getting  to  see  how  our  little  boat  is  really  manned,  and 
how  rich  a  freight  it  bears. 

Open  it  gently,  and  look  into  its  narrow  little  hold. 
Ah  !  here  is  a  fine  store  of  gold-dust  bursting  out  upon 
our  fingers ;  it  is  a  rich  burthen,  indeed,  that  these  ten 
merry  men  bear  who  are  gathered  so  close  round  their 
taller,  fatter  captain,  with  the  one  feather  in  his  cap. 

Very  closely  are  the  ten  filaments  gathered,  so 
closely  indeed,  that  they  are  even  united,  so  as  to  form 
a  regular  sheath  round  the  long  thick  germ  of  the 
pistil.  Nine  of  them  are  actually  grown  into  one 
piece,  but  the  tenth  is,  as  you  may  see,  in  a  somewhat 
advanced  blossom,  separate  from  the  rest,  so  as  to  form 
a  kind  of  seam ;  and  the  use  of  this  is,  that  when  the 
germ  has  received  the  golden  pollen  and  begins  to 
swell,  this  stamen  may  part  from  the  rest,  and  open 
the  sheath,  so  that  the  pistil  may  have  full  room  to 
expand. 

Could  a  more  perfect  contrivance  be  imagined,  and 
are  not  the  wonders  of  the  peas-blossom  greater  than 
almost  any  others  of  which  we  have  yet  heard  ?  The 
germ  is,  as  you  see,  long  and  flat,  and  it  is  already 
nearly  of  the  same  shape  as  the  pod  of  a  pea ;  and  as 
to  its  contents,  you  know  them  probably  quite  as  well 
as  I  do. 

All  the  papilionaceous  flowers  have  legumes  or  pods 
for  fruit,  and  we  have  many  valuable  friends  among 
them.  Scarlet  runners,  or  French  beans,  are  the  nearest 
at  hand,  with  their  beautiful  red  flowers,  which  are  so 
bright  that  they  would  surely  be  grown  for  show,  even 
if  they  were  of  no  use.  The  ripe  seeds  of  the  scarlet 


BUTTERFLY  FLOWERS. 


39 


runner  are  beautiful  things,  shining  black,  mottled  with 
purple  ;  and  I  have  sometimes  seen  a  little  child  made 
very  happy  with  a  long  string  of  them  threaded.  They 
are  beautiful  too  when  grown  to  their  full  size,  but  not 
yet  ripe,  when  they  are  of  a  rich  purple  crimson  within 
their  green  shell. 

The  fragrant  bean-blossom  has  been  long  since  over, 
but  I  dare  say  you  can  recollect  its  striped  standard, 
and  the  fine  black  spots  upon  each  of  its  wings ;  and 
its  broad  sturdy  fruit  is  now  just  in  perfection  for  eat¬ 
ing  with  its  companion,  bacon.  Next  year  you  must 
go  and  watch  the  bees  gathering  honey  from  the  bean 
flowers.  So  well  folded  within  the  wings  and  standard 
is  the  keel,  that  the  bee  cannot  get  in  by  the  front,  but 
is  obliged  to  pierce  a  little  hole  through  all  the  different 
folds,  with  its  long  trunk,  before  it  can  reach  the  juice. 
Sometimes  you  may  find  every  flower  on  a  bean  plant 
thus  pierced  by  the  clever  little  gatherers  of  honey. 

The  broad  bean  is  so  large  that  it  gives  a  very  good 
opportunity  for  seeing  the  commencement  of  the  growth 
of  plants.  You  know  it  has  a  thick  skin  over  it,  which 
when  you  pull  it  off,  splits  into  two  halves,  only  held 
together  by  a  little  green  and  white  hard  thing,  which 
we  call  the  eye. 

When  sown,  the  white  part  of  the  eye  becomes  the 
root,  the  green  part  the  stem,  and  afterwards  the  rest 
of  the  plant,  while  the  two  large  fleshy  halves  of  the 
bean  itself  appear  above  ground  as  cotyledons  or  seed 
leaves,  and  gather  nourishment  till  the  young  plant  is 
able  to  put  out  its  own  leaves,  when  they  fall  off  and 
die. 

The  earlier  papilionaceous  flowers  are  very  beautiful ; 
there  is  the  graceful,  drooping  laburnum  in  the  shrub¬ 
bery,  of  so  pure  and  delicate  a  yellow,  the  pretty  brown 


40 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


pencilled  mark  on  the  standard ;  but  it  does  not  exceed 
in  beauty  the  two  wild  yellow  butterfly  flowers.  The 
broom,  raising  its  graceful  spires  of  yellow  blossoms  on 
its  dark-green  stems,  seems  to  drink  in  the  sunshine  of 
May,  and  reflect  it  back  again  in  cheerfulness.  It 
grows  in  great  quantities,  and  to  an  immense  size,  all 
over  the  desolate  moors  of  Brittany  and  Anjou,  and  it 
must  have  been  while  hunting  there  that  Geoffrey,  the 
father  of  our  Henry  II.,  used  to  gather  it  and  wear  it 
in  his  cap,  so  that  its  French  name  of  Genet  became 
part  of  the  surname  of  our  bold  English  kings.  It  is 
said  that  they  desired  that  their  name  of  Plantagenet, 
taken  from  so  humble  a  plant,  might  put  them  in  mind 
not  to  exalt  themselves  too  highly. 

And  we  need  not  despise  the  useful  household  lessons 
which  are  connected  with  this  bright-faced  plant  and 
its  plain  old  English  name ;  for  the  good  housewife 
and  her  broom  may  do  her  duty,  and  be  quite  as 
valuable  in  her  way  as  the  Plantagenet  king  who  took 
his  name  from  the  same  bush  ;  and  if  the  once  green 
boughs  do  their  office  in  keeping  the  house  cheerful, 
and  pure,  and  fresh,  they  well  deserve  to  be  honoured 
by  being  worn  in  the  helmet  of  the  crowned  prince 
whose  office  it  is  to  protect  the  safety  and  the  purity  of 
that  humble  home. 

Our  other  yellow  butterfly  flower  is  the  prickly  gorse 
or  furze,  which  wears  its  sweet-smelling  golden  mantle 
in  the  spring,  in  such  splendour  that  many  a  wild  heath 
becomes  for  a  time  a  field  of  the  cloth  of  gold,  which 
would  have  put  King  Harry  the  Eighth’s  to  shame, 
even  though  his  courtiers  wore  their  whole  year’s 
income  on  their  backs.  England  may  be  proud  of  its 
gorse,  for  it  grows  in  such  beauty  nowhere  else  ;  and, 
indeed,  it  is  said,  that  when  Linmeus,  the  Swede,  and 


BUTTERFLY  FLOWERS. 


41 


the  greatest  naturalist  that  ever  lived,  first  came  to 
England,  and  saw  a  common  covered  with  furze,  in  full 
blossom,  he  was  so  overcome  that  he  fell  down  on  his 
knees  in  a  rapture  at  the  sight. 

The  small  dwarf  furze  is  still  in  blossom,  and  will 
continue  till  the  frost ;  and  there  are,  besides,  all  the 
beautiful  tribe  of  vetches  and  vetchlings,  the  tiny  crim¬ 
son  heath  pea,  the  purple  vetchling,  making  bowers 
in  the  hedge,  the  yellow  vetchling  on  the  chalky  bank, 
the  tiny  little  grey  tare,  and  especially  the  small  milk¬ 
wort,  pink,  blue,  or  white,  with  lovely  little  flowers,  of 
which  the  pink  is  perhaps  the  prettiest,  as  it  generally 
shows  a  large  white  tuft.  It  has  but  eight  stamens 
instead  of  ten,  like  a  crest  in  its  helmet.  There  is  a 
larger  sort  in  America  which  is  called  by  the  pretty 
name  of  May-wings. 

The  lupins,  with  their  many-fingered  spreading  leaves 
and  tall  spikes  of  blossom,  ornament  the  garden,  and 
greenhouses  generally  contain  the  little  dark  lotus,  said 
to  be  the  only  black  flower  in  existence ;  but  we  have 
a  much  prettier  lotus  of  our  own — the  birds’-foot  tre¬ 
foil — so  called  from  its  seed-pods  spreading  out  from 
one  centre  like  the  claws  of  a  bird.  Pretty  little  dwarf 
thing  !  it  grows  on  sunny  banks,  and  raises  its  red  buds 
and  clusters  of  yellow  flowers  in  the  midst  of  soft  green 
moss,  fragrant  purple  thyme,  and  striped  eye-bright, 
and  is  one  of  the  brightest  stitches  in  that  unequalled 
embroidery  of  the  cushions  of  banks,  on  which  it  is  so 
pleasant  to  sit  in  the  bright  days  of  the  latter  end  of 
summer.  It  is  sometimes  called  Lady’s-fingers,  in 
honour  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  A  large  lotus  grows  in 
the  Levant,  and  it  was  an  old  fancy  that  the  lotus- 
eater  forgot  all  care,  and  was  no  longer  subject  to 
sorrow  or  death.  So  the  lotus  stood  for  immortality, 


42 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


and  old  painters  sometimes  put  it  into  pictures  of  scenes 
after  the  Resurrection. 

The  last  to  be  mentioned  among  these  flowers  is  the 
clover,  or  trefoil,  in  all  its  many  kinds.  Its  heads, 
whether  of  the  large  purple,  the  white,  the  little  yellow, 
or  the  rich  crimson,  all  consist  of  a  multitude  of  small 
papilionaceous  flowers.  How  gay  and  beautiful  they 
are !  how  bright  a  clover-field  looks  in  the  sun,  and 
how  especially  handsome  is  a  great  field  of  the  new- 
fashioned  scarlet  clover,  which  people  have  not  yet  left 
off  calling  by  the  Latin  name  of  Trifolium  Incarnatum. 
It  is  curious  to  find  in  an  old  gardening-book  of  fifty 
years  ago,  that  this  scarlet  clover  had  then  been  twice 
introduced  as  a  garden  flower,  but  had  been  lost  again, 
whereas  now  it  is  to  be  seen  everywhere,  and  in  a  few 
years  will,  no  doubt,  be  wild  in  all  our  hedges.  This, 
I  have  no  doubt,  was  the  case  with  the  Lucerne,  which 
was  brought  here  from  the  place  of  that  name  in  Swit¬ 
zerland,  as  well  as  with  the  bright  red  saint-foin,  the 
name  of  which  consists  of  two  French  words,  signify- 
ing  “  holy  hay.” 

The  strawberry-headed  trefoil  lias  numerous  short 
pods,  that  form  a  globe,  and  cause  its  name.  The 
haresfoot  trefoil  has  very  long  calyx  teeth,  that  stand 
out  beyond  the  pods  in  an  oblong  cluster,  rather  like 
the  foot  of  a  hare.  But  the  subterraneous  trefoil  is  the 
strangest  of  all,  for  after  the  blossom  is  over,  it  buries 
its  pods  while  they  form  the  seed,  in  fact,  sows  itself. 

Trefoil  means  three  leaves,  and  you  may  easily  see 
why  it  is  so  called.  There  is  a  beautiful  story  which 
explains  why  the  shamrock  or  trefoil  is  so  honoured  by 
the  Irish,  and  its  leaves  worn  by  them  on  St.  Patrick’s 
day. 

St.  Patrick  was  a  bishop,  who  lived  about  the  year 


BUTTERFLY  FLOWERS. 


43 


450,  and  who  preached  the  Gospel  in  Ireland.  It  is 
said  that  he  found  that  the  great  difficulty  in  convert¬ 
ing  the  Irish  was,  that  they  would  not  believe,  because 
they  could  not  understand,  the  great  mystery  of  the 
Doctrine  of  the  Holy  Trinity  in  Unity.  At  last  he 
gathered  a  shamrock  or  trefoil  leaf  from  the  ground, 
and  holding  it  up  to  them,  asked  if  they  could  explain 
to  him  how  this  could  be  but  one  leaf,  and  yet  be  three 
separate  leaves,  and  if  they  could  not  understand  that, 
and  yet  knew  it  to  be  true,  how  should  they  refuse  to 
believe  what  was  so  much  greater,  because  their  minds 
could  not  reach  so  far  as  to  understand  it? 

This  argument  convinced  the  Irish,  and  the  three-fold 
leaf  has  ever  since  been  highly  valued  by  them ;  and 
we  often  see  it  employed  as  an  emblem  in  architecture. 
The  limbs  of  crosses  are  often  made  to  end  in  trefoils ; 
church  windows  are  sometimes  in  the  same  form,  and 
it  is  a  shape  frequently  chosen  for  carved  foliage. 

So  we  see  how  in  every  plant  God  has  set  lessons  of 
His  Name  and  Nature  for  those  who  will  look  for  them. 
I  have  read  of  a  poor  man  in  Brittany,  who  was  told 
by  a  wicked  irffidel  revolutionary  soldier,  “  We  will 
throw  down  your  churches  ;  you  shall  have  nothing  to 
remind  you  of  your  superstition,”  which  was  what 
these  unhappy  men  called  the  Christian  religion. 
“  You  cannot  take  away  the  stars,”  answered  the 
Breton,  meaning  that  while  he  had  them,  he  must 
still  be  for  ever  reminded  of  Him  who  made  the  stars. 

And  so  even  with  the  smallest  herb  that  grows ;  not 
only  has  their  Maker  created  them  so  perfect  and  so 
lovely  that  we  can  hardly  help  recollecting  how  great, 
how  kind,  and  how  wise  lie  is  every  time  we  look  at 
them,  but  He  has  also  set  upon  them  His  seal,  so  that 
we  may  trace  out  in  them  emblems  of  His  Nature  as 


44 


THE  IIEIIB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


revealed  to  us,  wliich  come  to  us  as  sweet  lessons  and 
helps,  and  might  serve  to  support  our  faith,  even  if  our 
other  aids  were  far  away. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AUGUST  FLOWERS. 

TJIE  LAST  BELLS  OF  SUMMER. 

The  bright  flush  of  summer  is  fast  fading  away,  and 
though  the  heat  is  not  gone,  yet  all  the  first  gay  bloom 
is  past,  and  the  time  is  come  which  is  compared  to 
middle  life,  when  man’s  first  hopes  and  early  promises 
are  fading,  but  when  they  should  have  begun  to  bring 
forth  fruit,  fruit  which  may  not  always  ripen  here,  but 
will  assuredly  do  so  hereafter  in  the  soil  of  which  we 
are  inheritors. 

But  if  the  spring  buds,  the  early  delights,  and  per¬ 
haps  the  friends,  of  youth  and  childhood,  have  passed 
away,  yet  neither  the  year,  nor  the  life  of  man,  is  left 
to  be  lonely  and  cheerless.  Many  a  new  bright  young 
friend,  many  a  quiet  pleasure  unknown  before,  many  a 
happy  and  peaceful  duty  arise  ere  yet  the  earlier  ones 
are  gone,  and  early  autumn  has  her  garland  of  sweet 
flowers,  the  bells  which  brighten  the  last  hours  of  sum¬ 
mer,  and,  as  the  Germans  say,  ring  its  knell. 

Yes,  the  bells  are  ringing  summer’s  knell  every¬ 
where.  The  real  bell  flowers,  the  Campanulas,*  be¬ 
gan  a  month  ago  to  unfold  their  delicate  blue  bells. 
Wherever  we  go,  we  meet  them,  all  five-stamened, 
pentagonal,  drooping  flowers,  of  a  particularly  delicate 
texture.  They  have  one  pistil  with  a  graceful  three- 


*  Campanula,  a  little  bell. 


TIIE  LAST  BELLS  OF  SUMMER. 


45 


cleft  branched  stigma,  and  a  very  hairy  style.  The 
little  hairs  are  useful  to  brush  the  pollen  out  of  the 
anthers,  as  the  style  passes  through  them  in  lengthen¬ 
ing,  and  thus  this  fertilizing  dust  finds  its  way  to  the 
stigma.  The  seed-vessel  is  a  curious  five-cleft  purse, 
which  splits  open  in  the  middle  of  each  division,  in¬ 
stead  of  at  the  sides. 

Peals  of  these  Campanula  bells  are  nodding  on  their 
tall  stalks  everywhere,  the  Canterbury  bells  in  the 
garden,  the  nettle-leaved  bell  flower  in  the  hedges  of 
the  south,  and  the  tall  pale  blue  giant  bell  flower  in 
the  north  ;  the  moor  rings  its  ivy-leaved  bells,  so  small 
and  close  to  the  ground ;  the  chalk-pit  has  its  rich, 
dark  blue  clustered  bell  flower  ;  and  the  stubble,  in 
some  fortunate  places,  is  ornamented  with  a  Cam¬ 
panula  so  beautiful,  that  it  has  the  name  of  Venus’s 
looking-glass,  since  even  the  fabled  goddess  of  beauty 
herself  could  not  see  anything  so  pretty  as  this  in  her 
own  mirror ;  but  surely  if  we  could  but  hear  them, 
the  sweetest  and  softest  tones  of  all  must  be  rung  out 
by  the  single  bells  of  the  dear  little  delicate  harebell, 
nodding  on  its  slim  tender  stalk,  looking  so  frail  that 
we  should  fancy  no  care  could  be  too  great  to  rear 
such  an  elegant  thing.  Yet  it  will  bloom  on  through 
all  the  autumn,  in  the  coldest  and  most  exposed  situa¬ 
tions,  brightening  the  waste  with  its  modest  beauty, 
and  never  leaving  us  till  the  first  frost  has  come  to 
nip  it.  So  fond  are  the  Scots  of  this  pretty  flower  that 
decks  their  bleak  mountains  and  moors,  that  it  seems 
to  them,  wherever  they  see  it,  a  symbol  of  home,  and 
it  has  the  name  of  u  the  blue  bells  of  Scotland.” 

Other  bells  are  ringing  round  it  on  the  common, 
especially  the  heather  bells,  which  I  could  fancy  would 
make  a  sharp,  quick,  tinkling  sound,  just  fit  for  a 


46 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


fairy’s  dinner-bell ;  indeed,  what  with  their  stiff  hard 
leaves,  and  dry  chaffy  corolla,  you  may  almost  ring 
them  yourself’. 

The  heaths  have  eight  stamens,  with  purple  anthers 
in  two  divisions  opening  like  the  prongs  of  a  fork,  and 
one  pistil,  the  germ  of  which  contains  multitudinous 
little  winged  seeds,  so  small  that  they  are  not  easily 
seen. 

You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  this  small  scram¬ 
bling  plant  is  a  very  good  geographer,  and  has  a  par¬ 
ticular  dislike  to  Asia,  though  one  would  have  thought 
it  might  be  like  the  Russian  empire,  and  not  be  par¬ 
ticular  whether  it  was  all  in  one  quarter  of  the  world  ; 
but  no,  the  heath  is  a  steady  European,  and  though  it 
grows  in  quantities  all  over  the  western  side  of  the 
Ural  mountains,  not  one  piece  ever  spreads  to  the 
eastern  side,  or  is  found  in  any  part  of  the  whole 
Asiatic  continent.  There  are  plenty  of  African  and 
American  heaths,  however,  and  very  beautiful  they 
are,  with  splendid  large  red,  yellow,  or  white  bells, 
and  dark  thready  stamens.  However,  England  may 
be  well  contented  with  her  own  three  sorts  of  heather, 
or  more  properly  five  sorts,  but  two  of  them  will  not 
come  out  of  Cornwall — why,  I  cannot  tell. 

The  three  are,  the  large  cross-leaved  heath,  with  all 
its  pale  blush-coloured  bells  in  one  cluster ;  the  purple 
heath,  branching  for  ever,  and  scrambling  all  over  the 
common  ;  and  the  ling,  spiring  up  in  such  graceful 
branching  forms,  sometimes  tall  slender  spikes,  some¬ 
times  round  garlands,  sometimes  little  lilac  trees,  all  so 
indescribably  lovely,  that  it  is  difficult  to  leave  off 
gathering  when  once  you  begin. 

These  tiny  heaths  make  more  show  in  the  wmrld 
than  much  larger  and  handsomer  flowers,  putting  us  in 


THE  LAST  BELLS  OF  SUMMER. 


47 


mind  that  the  whole  Church,  and  the  whole  nation, 
take  their  colour  more  from  the  multitude  of  the  lowly 
and  humble  members,  than  from  the  great  and  noted. 
It  is  the  purple  heath  that  gives  the  rich  tint  to  the 
distant  landscape,  giving  mountains  and  moors  far  away 
a  fine  glowing  hue,  through  the  blue  haze  of  distance. 
And  they  are  very  valuable  for  the  common  uses  of  life, 
as  well  as  beautiful  to  look  on.  A  bed  of  fresh  heather 
is  said  to  be  most  delicious  from  its  elastic  springiness ; 
the  dry  woody  stalks  are  bound  up  in  bundles  for  burn¬ 
ing,  and  a  heath  broom  is  a  very  useful  article. 

But  now  we  will  leave  the  heathy  common,  with  its 
free  air,  and  the  delightful  springiness  beneath  our  feet, 
which  seems  as  if  we  could  walk  there  for  ever  with¬ 
out  being  tired,  and  look  at  one  or  two  more  eight- 
stamened  flowers,  which  are  in  their  glory  now.  There 
are  the  willow  herbs,  the  tall  French  willow  herb, 
with  its  curiously-cut  petals,  and  red  calyx,  and  spires  of 
blossom,  and  the  English  willow  herb,  better  known  as 
“  codlings  and  cream,”  which  opens  its  fine  red  blos¬ 
soms  by  the  river  side,  the  white  stigma  within  divided 
into  four,  and  opening  like  another  little  flower.  There 
are  three  or  four  poor  little  pale  willow  herbs  besides, 
which  do  not  look  as  if  they  were  of  the  same  family 
as  these  fine  handsome  flowers,  but,  like  them,  have 
very  beautiful  seeds,  each  furnished  with  a  very  long 
graceful  feather  of  white  silk  with  which  to  fly  away 
to  seek  their  moist  nursery. 

The  parts  of  willow  herbs  are  all  in  fours ;  four 
petals,  four  divisions  of  the  calyx,  four  seeds,  twice 
four  stamens  ;  and  so  it  is  with  the  bright-coloured  yet 
grave  bell  that  is  ringing  in  all  gardens,  almost  in 
all  houses,  and  taking  its  part  in  the  last  chimes  of 


summer. 


48 


THE  HERB  OE  THE  FIELD. 


The  fuchsia  I  mean,  with  its  deep  red  calyx,  and 
the  fine  violet  petals  rolled  round  the  long  stamens, 
one  of  the  most  richly  coloured  of  flowers.  It  grows 
wild  in  Mexico,  where  its  crimson  flowers  hang  down 
from  very  large  bushes,  high  up  on  the  wild  volcanic 
hills.  The  first  that  was  ever  brought  to  England  was 
a  present  from  a  sailor  to  his  old  mother,  who  lived  in 
some  small  street  in  London,  and  kept  it  in  a  flower¬ 
pot  in  her  window.  Much  must  the  old  woman  have 
delighted  in  watching  the  unfolding  of  the  long  crimson 
drops  into  the  drooping  blossoms,  so  unlike  all  that 
she  had  ever  seen  before,  and  putting  her  in  mind  how 
her  son  had  remembered  her  and  thought  of  her  in 
lands  so  far  away  over  the  broad  sea.  But  she  was 
not  the  only  person  who  admired  the  flowers,  though 
no  one  could  have  loved  them  so  much  ;  a  lady  stopped, 
at  the  sight  of  what  was  so  beautiful  and  uncommon, 
looked  at  the  blossoms  and  heard  their  story.  She 
went  to  a  great  gardener  to  try  to  find  this  new  plant 
there,  and  described  it  to  him,  but  he  had  not  seen 
one,  nor  ever  heard  of  such  a  flower.  lie  asked  the 
direction  to  the  old  woman,  went  to  her,  and  offered 
half  a  guinea,  one  guinea,  two  guineas,  for  the  beau¬ 
tiful  plant,  but  still  the  mother  would  not  part  with  it 
till  he  had  promised  her  that  the  first  young  plant  he 
could  raise  should  be  hers.  He  took  it  home,  pulled 
off  every  blossom,  cut  it  up  into  slips,  and  put  them  into 
a  forcing-frame,  where  they  quickly  grew  and  flourished. 
And  soon  fuchsia-plants  at  two  guineas  a-piece  were  in 
the  grandest  drawing-rooms  in  London,  but  the  most 
prized  of  all  was  that  which  came  back  to  the  old 
mother.  She  had  her  share  of  the  profits  too,  and 
when  the  sailor-son  came  home  from  his  next  voyage, 
he  found  that  his  present  had  provided  for  the  com- 


THE  LAST  BELLS  OF  SUMMER. 


49 


fort  of  her  old  age,  as  well  as  cheered  her  in  his 
absence. 

This  was  a  long  time  ago,  and  the  fuchsia  thus  ob¬ 
tained  is  now  called  “the  old-fashioned  fuchsia,”  and 
not  often  found  except  in  the  gardens  of  old  houses  ;  it 
is  rather  larger  and  more  delicate  than  those  we  usually 
see,  which  are,  for  the  most  part,  seedlings. 

There  are  several  large  new  sorts,  but  they  have 
in  general  lost  their  grace  while  becoming  larger,  and 
their  colours  are  not  so  good  and  deep  as  those  of  the 
smaller  and  hardier  ones.  I  suppose  it  is  an  acknow¬ 
ledgment  of  the  beauty  of  the  fuchsia,  that  it  is  a  very 
favourite  shape  for  ornaments,  such  as  brooches,  pins, 
&c.,  which,  however,  only  serve  to  show  us  how  mise¬ 
rable  and  clumsy  are  man’s  best  imitations  of  the 
wonderful  works  of  God.  How  well  1  remember  days 
when  it  was  our  delight  to  keep  shops  in  the  garden 
— grocers,  dressmakers,  jewellers,  &c. — with  flowers, 
leaves,  and  grass,  to  represent  the  goods.  We  all 
wanted  to  have  fuchsias  in  our  shops,  because  they 
were  so  pretty,  and  I  think  we  used  them  very  ill,  for 
they  were  ear-rings  at  the  jeweller’s,  and  artificial 
flowers  at  the  milliner’s,  and  at  last  our  little  tailor 
decided,  “  that  they  were  a  very  curious  sort  of 
trowsers.” 

In  the  south  of  England,  the  foxglove  peals  of 
bells  have  in  general  ceased  to  ring  before  the  1st  of 
August.  The  foxglove,  the  special  fairy  flower,  called 
in  Ireland  fairy-cap,  and  where  the  little  elves  are 
said  to  hide  themselves,  when  a  human  foot  approaches 
to  disturb  their  evening  dances,  and  I  believe  the 
English  name  is  properly  f'olks’-gloves,  the  fairy  folks. 
Beautiful  foxgloves  !  the  purple  bells  hanging  in  pro¬ 
fusion  on  their  tall  proud  stalks,  growing  in  whole 

4 


50 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


multitudes  on  the  sunny  dry  bank,  or  lifting  tall  spires 
among  the  grey  dark  ruined  walls  !  how  fair  and  bright 
they  are !  and  yet  it  is  almost  sad  to  greet  them,  for 
they  first  come  to  tell  us  of  the  decay  of  summer. 

They  are  loved  by  little  children  too  for  the  loud 
popping  noise  made  by  enclosing  the  air  within  them, 
and  then  cracking  them,  for  which  reason  they  are  apt 
to  call  them  poppies,  though  this  is  a  silly  name,  and 
does  not  belong  to  them. 

The  foxglove  is  one  of  the  largest  of  a  numerous 
tribe  of  flowTers,  called  Labiate  or  lipped,  and  there¬ 
fore  its  parts  should  be  examined  closely.  Its  corolla 
is  of  one  petal,  with  a  narrow  throat  fastened  into  a 
five-cleft  calyx,  there  is  one  pistil  divided  at  the  top, 
and  a  large  round  germ.  The  stamens  are  four,  two 
long  and  two  short,  and  it  is  this  which  is  the  chief 
distinction  of  the  tribe. 

Those  of  the  foxglove  are  bent  in  the  middle ;  the 
outside  of  the  corolla  is  purple  ;  the  anthers  are  of  a 
very  pretty  bright  delicate  yellow,  spotted  with  dark 
brown  ;  the  throat  of  the  flower  is  shaded  with  white, 
and  speckled  with  dark  red  spots,  sometimes  bordered 
with  white  rings,  with  long  downy  hairs  growing  out 
of  the  spots ;  the  pistil  is  deep  purple  ;  the  calyx  and 
leaves  are  of  a  soft  light  green,  and  altogether  there 
are  few  English  plants  so  handsome. 

Another  of  the  tribe  is  the  snapdragon,  "with  its  odd 
red  and  yellow,  or  white  and  yellow  mouth,  within  the 
close-shut  lips  of  which  may  be  seen  the  two  long  and 
two  short  stamens,  and  the  pistil  like  a  tongue,  and 
plenty  of  honey,  too,  after  which  the  bees  creep  into 
the  little  box,  shut  themselves  in,  and  then  come  back¬ 
wards  out,  all  over  yellow  pollen.  The  great  snap¬ 
dragon  grows  on  the  old  town  or  castle  wall,  which 


THE  LAST  BELLS  OF  SUMMER. 


51 


once  saw  battles  and  sieges ;  its  relations  are  humbler, 
the  small  ones  live  in  dry  fields  ;  the  tall  yellow  toad¬ 
flax,  with  its  sulphur-coloured  upper  lip  and  orange- 
coloured  lower  one,  and  its  long  tail,  abides  in  dry 
hedges ;  the  ivy -leaved  lilac  toad-flax  clothes  the  bare 
rock,  and  the  brown  and  yellow  sort  creeps  in  the 
fallow-field. 

The  beautiful  blue  skull-cap  grows  by  the  water-side, 
its  seed-vessel  is  really  like  a  skull,  and  that  of  the 
garden  monkey-flower  is  not  unlike  a  monkey’s  face. 
The  musk,  with  its  strong  scent,  is  the  smallest  of  this 
family  of  monkey-flowers,  it  is  very  necessary  to  say, 
or  one  might  be  in  the  case  of  the  gentleman  who  sent 
to  Brazil  for  all  the  sorts  of  monkey-flowers  his  friend 
could  obtain,  but  unfortunately  made  the  important 
blunder  of  leaving  out  the  word  flowers,  and,  in  con¬ 
sequence,  received  a  whole  ship-load  of  chattering, 
grinning  monkeys,  from  the  American  woods,  with  a 
message  that  there  were  a  few  scarce  ones  to  follow  by 
the  next  opportunity.  Gardens  possess,  too,  the  tall, 
long,  red  penstemon,  with  five  stamens  indeed,  but  one 
only  a  mock  one,  for  it  never  carries  an  anther. 

All  these  have  a  large  high  seed-vessel,  but  there  is  a 
second  division  of  the  labiate  flowers,  which  have  only 
four  naked  brown  seeds  at  the  bottom  of  the  calyx. 
To  this  tribe  belong  the  herbs  which  have  the  strongest 
scent,  the  lavender  and  rosemary,  basil  and  marjoram. 
The  sage,  which  has  but  two  stamens,  branched  how¬ 
ever  so  as  to  carry  four  anthers,  is  one  of  this  tribe,  with 
all  the  other  Salvias,  less  useful,  but  far  handsomer, 
scarlet,  blue,  and  crimson,  and  the  wild  clary  of  the 
woods.  Nor  must  we  forget  thyme,  sweet  thyme,  both 
wild  and  tame,  beloved  by  bees,  the  delicious  beds  of 
which  are  so  soft,  and  send  forth  such  a  fragrant  smell 


52 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


when  trodden  on ;  the  basil  thyme,  too,  in  the  fallow  - 
field,  deep  blue,  with  a  pretty  white  crescent  on  its 
lower  lip.  Almost  all  of  this  tribe  have  a  strong  scent, 
and  are  often  very  useful.  There  is  the  white  and  the 
red  archangel  or  dead-nettle,  so  named  from  their  nettle¬ 
shaped  leaves,  and  with  so  sweet  a  drop  of  honey  at  the 
bottom  of  their  throat.  The  purple  prunella  or  self- 
heal,  called  by  country  children  Lady’s  Slipper,  and  the 
creeping  ground-ivy,  all  used  to  be  very  highly  valued 
when  doctors  were  few,  and  the  chief  mediciners  of  the 
villages  were  “cullers  of  simples,”  whose  knowledge 
of  herbs  had  been  handed  down  by  tradition  without 
books  from  many  ages  past. 

Many  fatal  mistakes  these  poor  old  people  must  have 
made,  and  very  thankful  we  may  be  that  all  the  bene¬ 
fits  of  good  and  superior  care  have  come  amongst  us, 
more  easily  obtained  by  the  poorest  now,  than  then  by 
the  richest  and  greatest. 

This  is  a  long  chapter,  and  so  I  shall  leave  you  to 
find  out  more  about  labiate  flowers,  and  summer  bells, 
in  the  best  way  possible,  by  your  own  eyes  and  obser¬ 
vation. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SEPTEMBER  FLOWERS. 

COMPOUND  FLOWERS. 

You  have  learnt  by  this  time  that  there  can  be  no 
perfect  flower  without  stamens  and  pistils,  and  that  no 
double  flowers  are  ever  found  growing  wild,  excepting 
now  and  then  by  what  people  are  pleased  to  call  a  freak 
of  nature. 

However,  here  is  a  puzzle  for  you  :  no  one  can  doubt 


COMPOUND  FLOWERS. 


53 


that  dandelions  and  thistles  are  wild,  since  no  one  ever 
takes  the  trouble  to  grow  them  ;  and  thistle  down  and 
dandelion  clocks  will  not  allow  us  to  doubt  that  they 
both  produce  as  much  seed  as,  and  more  too,  than  any 
one  wants  or  wishes.  Moreover,  where  are  the  stamens 
and  pistils  of  a  daisy  ? 

I  think  you  must  be  in  a  difficulty ;  and  now  I  will 
surprise  you  still  more  by  telling  you  that  the  daisy  and 
dandelion  have  in  reality  more  stamens  and  pistils  than 
any  flower  with  which  you  have  yet  been  made  ac¬ 
quainted. 

If  you  have  a  large  kitchen-garden,  and  if  the  gar¬ 
dener  ever  lets  his  artichokes  run  to  seed,  you  will 
there  have  the  best  opportunity  of  seeing  the  structure 
of  flowers  of  this  class ;  since  the  parts  are  so  large  as 
to  be  easily  examined  without  a  magnifying-glass.  I 
have  a  great  admiration  for  an  artichoke  flower,  with 
its  crown  of  blue  petals,  and  pale  lilac  styles,  of  such  an 
exquisite  light  bright  colour ;  it  rises  up  so  nobly  in  the 
autumnal  garden,  and  if  gathered,  and  brought  into  the 
house,  often  puzzles  people  who  would  never  think  of 
seeing  such  a  handsome  thing  come  out  of  a  kitchen- 
garden. 

If  you  can  get  an  artichoke  blossom,  look  at  it  closely, 
and  pull  it  to  pieces,  as  well  as  its  very  strong,  hard 
calyx  will  allow  you,  and  you  will  find  that  it  is,  in 
fact,  one  great  head,  consisting  of  a  multitude  of  small 
flowers,  closely  packed  together  on  the  same  receptacle, 
within  the  same  calyx.  Each  floret,  or  little  flower, 
consists,  you  see,  of  one  petal  deeply  cut.  Within  is 
one  pistil,  very  long  and  slender;  the  five  stamens  are 
much  shorter  and  smaller,  and  their  anthers  are  united 
round  the  style,  just  as  in  the  violet  and  heart’s-ease. 

All  these  heads  of  small  florets  are  called  together 


54 


THE  IIEIIB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Compound  Flowers ;  and  there  are  a  great  many  dif¬ 
ferent  species,  many  of  which  come  into  blossom  late  in 
the  year,  and  are  now  ornamenting  our  gardens  and 
fields. 

The  calyx  of  most  of  these  is  composed  of  small 
leaves,  laid  one  over  the  other  like  tiles,  or  scales 
imbricated,  as  this  is  properly  called.  You  may  see 
this  in  the  artichoke,  though  here  each  scale  is  very 
large,  thick,  and  fleshy,  at  the  place  where  it  is  set  into 
the  receptacle.  So  you  see  it  is  the  bud  of  the  artichoke 
blossom  which  is  sent  up  to  table  ;  the  “  arti,”  as  a 
little  boy  I  knew  used  to  call  the  eatable  part,  is  the 
receptacle,  and  the  choke  consists  of  the  young  florets. 

The  Jerusalem  artichoke  is  also  a  compound  flower, 
though  it  is  not  related  to  the  common  artichoke,  except¬ 
ing  that  its  root  has  a  taste  supposed  to  resemble  that  of 
its  namesake.  In  both  its  names  this  vegetable  seems 
to  have  made  a  great  blunder,  for  it  has  really  nothing 
to  do  with  Jerusalem,  and  the  word  is  only  a  corruption 
of  the  Italian  girar  sole ,  turn  to  the  sun,  it  being  really 
a  species  of  sunflower. 

Both  sunflowers  and  Jerusalem  artichokes  were  first 
found  in  Peru,  where  they  were  held  in  high  esteem 
by  the  natives,  who  considered  them  sacred  to  the  sun, 
and  wore  their  blossoms  in  their  hair  at  all  their  great 
festivals. 

In  sunflowers  much  of  the  structure  of  compound 
flowers  may  easily  be  seen,  as  the  florets  are  all  of  a 
large  size ;  all  those  in  the  centre,  or  as  it  is  sometimes 
called,  the  disk,  perfect  and  regular  flowers,  'with  five 
united  stamens  and  one  pistil ;  but  the  large  yellow 
ones  on  the  outside,  which  at  first  sight  might  have 
been  taken  as  the  only  petals,  have,  in  fact,  one  petal, 
grown  to  a  great  size,  and  no  stamens  at  all.  These 


COMPOUND  FLOWERS. 


55 


are  called  the  strap-shaped  florets,  and  serve  the  same 
purpose  as  the  corolla  in  simple  flowers,  namely,  to 
protect  the  more  perfect  and  regular  ones  which  pro¬ 
duce  the  seed. 

Each  seed  of  the  sunflower  kind  is  of  a  dark-brown 
or  grey,  all  firmly  set  within  the  calyx ;  and  in  the 
case  of  that  glorious  old-fashioned  flower,  the  large 
sunflower,  the  great  circular  receptacle  puts  me  in  mind 
of  a  round  shield.  Turkeys  and  poultry  greatly  like  the 
oily  seeds  of  the  large  sunflower,  and  the  whole  plant  is 
very  handsome,  standing  up  high  in  the  garden  of  some 
cottage,  or  farm-house,  with  its  great  broad  golden 
blossoms,  as  bright  with  their  yellow  rays  as  if  they 
wished  to  grow  into  the  likeness  of  the  sun,  at  which 
they  are  always  looking. 

For  solid  as  is  the  stalk  of  this  flower,  it  always  turns 
towards  the  sun  through  his  whole  course.  At  sunrise, 
the  blossoms  are  each  one  of  them  turned  to  the  east ; 
by  noon-day  their  bright  faces  are  steadfastly  turned  to 
the  south  ;  the  parting  rays  of  the  western  sun  still  play 
upon  the  broad  disk  of  the  constant  sunflower  ;  and  ere 
the  morning  light  has  dawned,  it  has  set  its  face  to 
watch  for  the  eastern  glow.  It  is  one  of  the  brightest, 
clearest  lessons  written  in  God’s  great  book  of  nature  ; 
for  is  it  not  thus  that  the  Christian,  through  the  morning, 
noon-day,  and  even-tide  of  his  life,  earnestly  looks  up 
to  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  in  heaven,  till  he  is  trans¬ 
formed  in  His  likeness,  and  when  at  length  night  comes 
upon  him,  is  he  not  laid  down  to  sleep,  with  his  face 
towards  the  east,  watching  for  the  dawning  of  the 
brightest  day  ? 

The  daisy,  the  bright  day’s  eye,  is  a  little  sunflower 
in  its  own  humble,  quiet  way,  and  when  the  sun  is  out 
of  sight,  it  folds  its  pink-and-white  strap-shaped  florets 


56 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


over  its  yellow  eye,  bends  its  head,  and  sleeps  amid  tlie 
dewy  grass.  All  its  perfect  florets  are  not  in  blossom 
together ;  those  at  the  edge  come  out  first,  and  the 
centre  ones  not  till  the  strap-shaped  outer  florets  are 
often  much  the  worse  for  wear.  When  you  make  a 
daisy-chain  you  thrust  the  needle  and  thread  through 
the  receptacle,  or  disk,  and  the  centre  florets.  How 
very  grand  this  sounds  !  You  think,  and  so  do  I,  that 
it  is  much  pleasanter  to  make  a  capital  long  daisy-chain 
than  to  talk  about  it  in  such  fine  words.  Daisy-chains 
are  country  children’s  strings  of  pearls,  the  pearls  of  the 
meadow,  as  we  may  call  them,  for  the  very  same  word, 
Margarita ,  signifies  at  once  a  daisy  and  a  pearl ;  and 
if  any  little  Margarets  read  this  chapter,  perhaps  they 
will  remember  to  have  been  sometimes  called  pearls,  or 
sometime  daisies. 

St.  Margaret  of  Cortona  is  always  drawn  with  a 
daisy  in  her  hand,  or  growing  near  her,  and  in  honour 
of  her,  a  daisy  was  the  device  of  Margaret,  St.  Louis’s 
queen,  as  well  as  of  our  own  bold,  high-spirited  Queen 
Margaret  of  Anjou,  who  does  not  seem  to  have  had  a 
right  to  anything  so  meek  and  lowly.  There  is  a 
beautiful  book  of  hers  in  the  British  Museum,  given  to 
her  by  the  great  Lord  Talbot,  with  the  first  page  orna¬ 
mented  with  a  rich  border  of  daisies.  A  double  daisy 
is  one  in  which  the  strap-shaped  florets  have  been 
multiplied  till  they  exclude  the  perfect  ones  in  the  disk  ; 
they  are  often  very  pretty,  when  they  are  of  bright 
crimson  or  snowy  white  ;  and  where  is  the  child  that 
is  not  proud  of  that  funny  thing,  a  hen-and-cliicken 
daisy,  in  the  border  of  a  little  garden  bed. 

The  next  flowers  of  which  daisies  remind  us  are  the 
great  bold-looking  ox-eye  daisies  of  the  early  spring, 
with  their  clear  white  and  bright  yellow.  They  are 


COMPOUND  FLOWERS. 


0/ 


not,  however,  real  daisies,  but  with  their  yellow  brother, 
the  corn-ox-eye,  are  chrysanthemums,  of  the  same 
genus  as  the  red,  white,  and  yellow  double  flowers 
which  linger  on  in  the  garden  till  the  first  frost.  The 
Chinese  play  fine  tricks  with  their  chrysanthemums, 
clipping  and  training  them  to  grow  in  the  shape  of 
horses,  deer,  and  sometimes  even  Pagodas. 

Nor  must  we  quite  pass  September  without  a  kindly 
remembrance  of  the  sober  Michaelmas- daisy,  with  its 
grey  border  and  smiling  eye,  coming  to  stay  with  us 
through  the  autumn  as  long  as  ever  the  frost  will 
allow  it. 

And  there,  too,  are  the  noble  flowers  called  dahlias, 
which  were  first  brought,  small  and  single,  from 
Mexico,  where  they  were  called  cocoxoclutl ,  and  truly 
they  have  improved  their  name  as  much  as  their  beauty 
since  their  arrival  in  England.  A  single  dahlia  is 
seldom  seen,  and  it  is  not  very  handsome  ;  the  double 
ones  are  certainly  very  fine,  dark  velvety  puce,  rich 
crimson  and  scarlet,  white  and  lilac,  regularly  and 
exquisitely  marked,  and  each  floret  quilled  and  folded 
with  perfect  regularity.  They  are  some  of  the  flowers 
on  which  gardeners  most  pride  themselves. 

But  we  must  come  back  to  our  own  hedges  and 
ditches,  where  we  find  the  strong-scented  camomile 
flowTer,  so  useful  in  medicine,  the  lilac  flea-bane,  the 
tall  golden-rod,  all  autumn  flowers  ;  moreover,  the  rude 
rough  rag-weed,  yellow,  bold,  and  staring,  and  with  its 
jagged  leaves,  usually  devoured  by  swarms  of  yellow 
and  black  caterpillars,  their  yellow  parts  of  exactly  the 
same  hue  as  the  flowers. 

All  these  are  of  the  same  description  as  the  daisy 
and  sunflower,  with  a  disk  of  perfect  flowers,  and  a  ray 
of  strap-shaped  florets.  Such  also  is  the  groundsel, 


58 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


though  it  has  no  ray,  the  very  troublesome  groundsel, 
regarded  with  kindness  by  none  save  the  little  gar¬ 
deners  who  want  a  weed  to  pull  up,  or  by  those  who 
have  a  caged  canary  to  rejoice  with  twisting  it  into 
the  bars  of  its  cage.  That  inveterate  groundsel,  which 
will  come  up  everywhere,  is  the  strongest  of  all  emblems 
of  the  ill  weeds  that  have  grown  apace  in  the  soil  of 
our  heart  ever  since  that,  as  well  as  the  ground,  was 
made  a  soil  to  be  cultivated  with  care  and  severe  toil, 
before  it  will  bring  forth  aught  but  what  is  worthless. 
The  American  groundsel  is  a  pretty  purple  flower  with 
a  ray,  and  is  much  grown  in  gardens. 

There  is  another  odd-looking  flower  belonging  to 
this  order  ;  the  small  brown  cud-weed,  with  the  white 
cottony  leaves,  which  grows  in  the  stubble  fields  in  the 
autumn.  This  cud- weed  has,  lioivever,  some  very 
pretty  brothers ;  the  everlasting  flowers,  the  calyx  of 
which,  consisting  of  a  number  of  small,  stiff,  chaffy 
leaves,  is  not  liable  to  fade,  but  both  the  yellow  and 
white  kinds  can  be  kept  for  a  long  time  in  some  dry 
place  as  a  winter  nosegay.  I  have  some  on  my  mantel¬ 
piece  which  were  given  me  by  a  little  school  girl  more 
than  two  years  ago.  Sometimes  we  see  them  in  wreaths 
in  gardeners’  shops,  dyed  of  different  colours,  in  red 
and  blue.  There  is  a  large  fine  red  sort  too,  and  a 
large  yellow  one,  the  last  of  which  we  often  see  in 
gardens.  These  amaranths,  or  everlasting  flowers, 
though  stiff,  and  not  very  graceful  in  themselves,  are 
considered  as  the  emblems  of  the  never-fading  flowers 
beyond  the  grave  ;  and  in  France  and  Germany  it  is 
the  custom  to  lay  garlands  of  them  on  the  coffin,  and 
often  to  hang  fresh  wreaths  of  them  upon  the  graves 
of  those  who  have  passed  into  the  other  world. 

Next  we  come  to  such  flowers  as,  like  the  real  arti- 


COMPOUND  FLOWERS. 


59 


choke,  are  composed  entirely  of  equal  and  perfect 
florets.  First  of  these  is  the  thistle,  the  cursed  thistle, 
as  one  sort  is  called,  the  plant  which,  together  with  the 
bramble,  grows  everywhere  to  remind  man  of  his 
doom.  And  yet  the  thistle  is  a  noble  and  beautiful 
flower,  with  its  purple  florets,  its  calyx  of  firm  solid 
scales  lapping  over  one  another,  and  each  ending  in 
such  a  long,  sharp,  piercing  dagger,  besides  the  nume¬ 
rous  lesser  spines  which  bristle  up  at  every  point,  like 
an  army  of  spears  around  the  soft  rich  purple  cushion 
within.  Every  leaf  too  has  its  own  spines ;  every 
joint  of  the  stalk  is  well  guarded,  and  it  well  deserves 
the  motto  which  the  Scots  have  given  at  once  to  it  and 
to  their  kingdom — “No  one  can  provoke  me  with  im¬ 
punity.” 

The  thistle,  with  its  purple  cap  and  coronet  of  spines, 
has  long  been  the  badge  of  Scotland  ;  the  reason  why 
is  not  known,  though  it  seems  to  me  that  long  ago  I 
read  a  story  of  a  Dane  at  the  head  of  an  invading  army, 
who  stealing  in  secret,  barefooted,  to  attack  the  Scottish 
camp  in  the  night,  suddenly  trod  upon  a  thistle,  and 
by  his  cry  of  surprise  and  pain,  put  the  Scots  on  their 
guard,  so  that  the  attempt  at  surprising  them  failed. 
But  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  the  story  again,  and 
am  sometimes  inclined  to  believe  I  must  have  dreamt 
it.  At  any  rate  the  gallant  King  James  V.  instituted 
the  order  of  Knights  of  the  Thistle,  and  this  common 
way-side  plant  was  the  chosen  device  of  the  house  of 
Stuart. 

If  you  choose  to  venture  your  fingers  in  pulling  a 
thistle  to  pieces,  you  will  find  the  tiny  purple  florets 
with  five  stamens  and  one  pistil  each,  and  each  little 
pistil  has  a  long,  narrow,  silky  "white  cotton  wing 
fastened  to  its  germ.  As  the  flower  fades,  these  cotton 


GO 


TIIE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


wings  grow  larger  ;  they  fill  the  calyx  till  it  seems  as 
if  it  was  a  white  silk  thistle  instead  of  a  purple  one,  then 
they  puff  out  into  a  handsome  soft  head,  and  at  last 
they  take  flight,  and  these  full-spread  white  wings  go 
floating  hither  and  thither  on  the  autumn  wind  till  at 
last  they  become  fixed,  and  grow  and  multiply,  alas ! 
far  too  like  bad  habits,  lightly  caught  and  fast  fixed, 
and  too  soon  full  of  spines  and  thorns. 

Luckily  goldfinches  eat  a  good  many  of  these  mis¬ 
chievous  downy  seeds,  or  I  do  not  know  what  would 
become  of  us.  I  have  seen  the  whole  air  so  full  of 
thistle  down  as  to  look  as  if  it  was  snowing,  for  the 
sluggard  cannot  allow  the  thistle  to  grow  in  his  own 
field  without  damaging  that  of  his  neighbour.  The 
great  milk  thistle,  with  the  green  leaves  variegated 
with  white,  is  the  prettiest  of  all ;  there  is  also  the 
dwarf  stemless  thistle,  which  looks  beautiful  on  the 
chalk  down,  and  its  companion  the  brown  one,  equally 
small,  and  looking  as  if  it  was  a  dead  flower. 

The  great  hardworking  dumbledores  love  to  hum 
over  the  thistles,  and  rest  on  the  purple  tuft,  which 
makes  a  royal  cushion  for  those  black  velvet  and 
orange  coloured,  burly,  portly  creatures. 

If  thistles  are  like  bad  habits,  so  too  are  the  burdocks, 
which  stick  so  fast  and  hold  so  tight,  that  it  seems  im¬ 
possible  to  get  rid  of  them,  as  each  scale  of  the  calyx 
has  a  little  sharp-pointed  hook  at  the  end.  I  remember 
once  a  little  village  boy  in  his  play  stuck  his  jacket 
over  with  these  burs  to  look  like  the  long  rows  of  but¬ 
tons  on  a  page’s  jacket ;  I  have  always  wondered  how 
long  he  was  getting  them  out  again. 

Dandelions  are  of  the  same  kind,  with  perfect  florets, 
and  winged  pistils,  which  make  such  beautiful  globes, 
that  children  so  love  to  blow  away  and  call  clocks, 


COMPOUND  FLOWERS. 


61 


fancying  the  number  of  puffs  will  give  that  of  the  hour. 
Or  in  our  shops  I  have  known  them  serve  as  mops. 
The  curious  milky  juice  which  stains  the  fingers  of 
those  who  make  dandelion  chains,  is  of  use  in  medi¬ 
cine,  and  the  root  is  sometimes  ground  up  and  mixed 
with  coffee  for  people  in  weak  health.  The  chains, 
formed  by  joining  the  two  ends  of  the  hollow  stem,  are 
very  pretty  things,  and  what  pride  to  make  them  reach 
all  round  the  garden  !  By  the  way,  the  name  of  the 
flower  does  not  mean  a  conceited  lion,  as  might  have 
been  supposed,  it  is  only  a  corruption  of  the  French 
name  dent  de  lion ,  a  lion’s  tooth,  from  the  jagged  edge 
of  the  petals.  The  dandelion  has  many  likenesses 
among  the  sowthistles  and  the  pretty  brimstone-coloured 
hawk-weeds,  one  of  which  makes  a  still  prettier  round 
puffed  head  than  the  dandelion  clock  itself. 

Though  this  chapter  has  been  far  too  long,  I  must  not 
leave  off  without  giving  one  or  two  words  to  the  last 
order  of  compound  flowers,  to  which  belong  the  lovely 
blue  corn-flowers,  and  the  hard  sturdy  knap-weed. 
These  have  their  perfect  florets  in  the  middle,  but  their 
imperfect  florets,  instead  of  spreading  out  in  rays,  are 
really  little  flowers  of  exquisite  form,  only  without  the 
important  parts. 

The  knap-weed  is  in  full  blossom  now  in  all  waste 
places  ;  it  has  a  beautiful  imbricated  calyx,  fitting  to¬ 
gether  with  admirable  closeness,  like  a  suit  of  armour, 
each  scale  edged  with  a  border  of  little  brown  hairs. 
It  is  a  purple  flower,  with  a  tough  stem,  very  hard  to 
gather. 

Last  of  all  the  deep  blue  corn-flower,  with  its  pretty 
head  among  the  wheat,  and  its  diadem  of  imperfect 
flowers.  In  Germany  the  children  of  the  villages 
sometimes  wear  wreaths  of  this  beautiful  flower  as 


62 


TIIE  llEltB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


crowns  round  their  flaxen  heads,  when  all  the  people 
of  the  place  go  according  to  the  good  old  custom,  to 
offer  up  their  thanks  in  Church  for  their  safely-gathered 
crops. 

To  conclude,  there  are  three  different  classes  of  com¬ 
pound  flowers ;  first,  those  which,  like  the  dandelion, 
have  all  their  florets  equal  and  perfect ;  secondly,  those 
which,  like  the  daisy,  have  a  ray  of  imperfect  flowers, 
and  a  disk  of  perfect  ones  ;  thirdly,  those  which,  like 
the  knap-weed,  have  no  ray,  but  a  border  of  imperfect 
flowers. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OCTOBER  PLANTS. 

UNSEEN  BLOSSOMS. 

I  was  thinking  what  I  could  find  to  tell  you  about 
flowers,  or  rather  about  the  vegetable  world,  in  Octo¬ 
ber,  which  to  one  half  of  the  globe  is  the  season  of 
decay,  and  when  the  bright  tints  worn  by  the  woods  are 
only  the  beauty  of  decline,  like  the  gay  colouring  of 
sunset.  The  trees  do  indeed  wear  “  a  sunshine  of  their 
own,”  but  it  is  like  the  crown  of  glory  on  the  head  of 
the  aged  man. 

I  was  thinking,  I  say,  what  could  be  said  about  the 
vegetable  world  in  October,  when  I  recollected  a  story 
told  of  one  of  the  most  learned  men  who  ever  lived. 
He  was  sitting  one  day  upon  an  open  common,  when  lie 
laid  down  his  hand  upon  a  piece  of  turf,  and  said  that 
in  that  small  space  which  he  thus  covered,  there  grew 
so  many  wonders  that  their  study  would  occupy  the 


UNSEEN  BLOSSOMS. 


Go 


longest  life  of  the  greatest  philosopher.  So  I  do  not 
think  we  need  despair  of  finding  something  marvellous, 
even  though  the  time  of  primroses  and  violets  has 
gone  by. 

Pray  what  do  you  consider  to  be  the  colour  of  a 
brick  wall  ?  Bed,  to  be  sure  ;  all  red  together.  And 
a  tiled  roof?  Why,  that  is  red  too,  only  darker.  Or  a 
stone  wall  ?  That  is  grey,  or  reddish,  or  white,  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  colour  of  the  stone.  What  can  make  you 
ask  us  such  foolish  questions  ?  And  the  bricks  are  all 
alike,  I  suppose  ?  O  yes,  exactly,  not  a  bit  of  differ¬ 
ence  between  them. 

Well,  there  is  a  row  of  houses,  all  built  at  the  same 
time,  all  with  one  door,  and  two  windows  down  stairs, 
and  three  up  stairs,  all  with  slated  roofs  and  chimneys, 
exactly  the  same.  But  do  they  all  look  just  alike  ? 
Let  us  see.  Here  is  one  with  neat  white  muslin  blind 
and  white  curtain  peeping  out,  and  the  door  set  open 
with  a  bar  up  against  it,  and  a  scrambling  baby  in  a  pink 
frock,  leaning  out  over,  making  its  funny  little  noises 
at  the  people  passing  by.  And  the  next  ?  Here  is  a 
window  'with  no  comfortable  curtains,  but  with  great 
cracks,  and  dirty-looking  bundles  squeezed  close  up 
against  it,  as  if  the  house  was  full  of  disorder,  and  at 
the  open  door  you  may  see  a  child  with  tangled  hair, 
and  a  frock  of  one  washed-out  colour,  dragging  a  poor 
little  baby  ill-temperedly  about.  Or  here  is  another, 
very  trim  indeed,  with  bright  scarlet  geraniums  making 
a  blind  to  the  down-stairs  windows,  and  wooden  boxes 
of  mignionette  before  the  upper  ones.  The  next  looks 
blank  and  dull,  and  see,  “  To  be  let,”  is  stuck  up  in 
the  window.  Here  we  have  another,  where  the  panes 
are  very  bright,  and  behind  them  there  stand  up 
oranges  and  curiously-cut  pieces  of  parliament  ginger- 


04 


TIIE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


bread ;  and  in  this  one  the  upper  window  is  open,  but 
the  curtains  are  drawn  close,  and  there  is  a  hush  in 
the  manner  in  which  that  young  girl  is  lifting  the 
latch  of  the  door.  There  is  sickness  there,  or  perhaps 
it  may  be  death.  All  that  row  of  houses  were  alike 
when  they  were  built,  but  are  they  alike  now  1  How 
full  of  living  souls  are  they,  and  all  with  their  own 
joys,  their  own  griefs,  their  own  sins  and  struggles,  all 
unknown  to  us,  though  they  are  our  brethren  and 
members  of  the  same  Body,  but  all  known  perfectly 
and  thoroughly  to  the  Father  of  us  all ! 

And  if  we  know  nothing  of  what  is  so  like  and  so 
near  to  ourselves,  how  should  we  know  anything  of 
the  hidden  things  of  nature  and  of  providence?  They 
seem  put  there  to  show  us  how  dim  our  eyes  are,  and 
remind  us  that  a  time  may  come  when  we  shall  see 
more  clearly. 

Now  for  the  brick  wall,  the  red  wall,  only  it  must 
not  be  a  spick-and-span  new  wall,  any  more  than  the 
houses  are  quite  new.  The  houses  must  get  their  in¬ 
habitants,  and  so  must  the  bricks. 

Well,  look  close  at  the  bricks,  and  say  whether  they 
are  all  alike,  or  whether  they  are  red.  To  begin. 
First  here  is  a  cloudy  sort  of  splotch  of  grey,  shaded 
off  into  edges  of  silvery  white,  which  looks  quite  pure 
and  bright  against  the  little  dark-brown  bristles  that 
rise  in  front  of  it ;  then  comes  another  cloud,  but  this 
is  yellow  instead  of  white,  and  what  a  funny  shape  it 
is,  something  like  China  and  Ilindostan  in  the  map, 
with  two  or  three  little  yellow  islands  round  it. 

The  brick,  its  neighbour,  is  gayer  still,  for  the 
yellow  is  in  broader  streaks,  and  the  white  rises  in 
curious  little  shields  or  crests.  Besides,  there  is  a 
crack  in  the  brick,  upon  which  there  rises  a  small 


UNSEEN  BLOSSOMS. 


65 


found  tuft  of  exquisite  dark  soft  green,  like  a  cushion. 
And  see  here,  how  the  yellow,  brown,  and  white,  are 
all  blended  in  one  pattern,  like  the  veining  of  marble. 
No  one  can  say  that  one  brick  is  exactly  like  another 
when  they  come  to  look  into  them,  any  more  than  that 
there  is  no  difference  between  houses. 

This  strange  painting  on  bricks  and  stones  is  one  of 
the  least  understood  and  most  curious  things  in  crea¬ 
tion  ;  for  when  I  have  told  you  that  these  grey  and 
yellow  clouds  are  lichens,  you  know  nothing  more 
than  their  name,  and  I  have  very  little  more  to  tell 
you.  Great  microscopes,  and  minds  which  are  micro¬ 
scopes  in  comparison  with  ours,  have  been  set  to  work 
on  these  little  things,  and  can  only  make  out  enough 
to  be  sure  that  there  are  still  greater  wonders  yet  to 
be  discovered.  They  have  not,  indeed,  leaves,  stem, 
and  blossom,  like  the  larger  vegetables,  but  it  is  not 
less  true  that  they  are  living,  growing,  seed-producing 
plants. 

As  to  seeing  the  seed,  or  even  the  parts  that  contain 
it,  that  is  quite  impossible  without  a  very  powerful 
magnifier.  The  parts  containing  it  are  very  minute 
purses,  usually  ranged  under  the  raised  edge  of  the 
yellow  crust,  or  under  the  white  shield.  Each  bag  is 
full  of  little  cells,  and  each  cell  is  filled  with  seeds  so 
small  that  not  only  the  eye  cannot  see  them,  but  the 
touch  cannot  discover  them,  and  yet  they  have  life 
within  them,  life  which  wants  nothing  but  moisture  to 
make  it  grow,  and  lay  the  foundation  for  further  and 
better  developed  life. 

Floating  about  in  the  air,  these  imperceptible  seeds 
settle  on  stone,  on  wood,  on  the  bark  of  trees,  wherever 
they  can  find  a  cranny,  a  cranny  that  is  large  enough 

5 


GG 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


for  them,  not  what  our  eye  or  even  our  touch  would 
call  a  cranny. 

What  they  come  to,  a  good  deal  depends  upon  the 
substance  upon  which  they  grow,  for  the  bounds  be¬ 
tween  the  different  species  have  not  been  clearly  made 
out.  These  grey-and-white  ones  are  called  liverworts  ; 
there  are,  besides,  the  grey  crusty  ones,  which  give  the 
hoary  appearance  to  the  bark  of  the  old  oak  tree,  and 
the  long  grey  branching  one  that  hangs  down  stiff  and 
crackling  from  the  boughs,  a  sort  of  winter  foliage  ;  its 
purses  are  in  little  globes  at  the  end  of  each  branch,  and 
it  is  properly  called  lungwort.  It  is  the  liverwort  and 
the  lungwort  that  are  so  useful  to  the  little  birds  in 
building  their  nests ;  the  neat  goldfinch  and  chaffinch 
work  them  in  with  moss,  and  hair,  and  gossamer  cob¬ 
webs,  like  little  felt-makers,  and  the  clever,  long-tailed 
tit  covers  her  dome-shaped  nursery  with  them,  so  as  to 
make  it  so  like  in  colour  to  the  grey  branches  round, 
that  it  may  have  a  good  chance  of  escaping  the  view 
of  the  thievish  mouse  and  magpie,  or  still  more  thievish 
birds’ -nesting  boy. 

In  the  midst  of  the  heath  grows  a  wiry,  white- 
branched  lichen,  the  same  which  in  Lapland  is  called 
reindeer  moss,  and  which  those  useful  creatures  dig  out 
far  beneath  the  snow.  If  you  are  very  fortunate  you 
may  perhaps  find  the  beautiful  cup-liclien,  which  raises 
among  its  crisp  grey  curling  leaves  a  little  cup  like  a 
fairy’s  wine-glass,  edged  with  crimson  spots.  Or  there 
is  an  odd  brownisli-grey  one  with  branches  and  a  mar¬ 
bled  pattern,  which  the  Canadians  call  tripe  de  roche, 
and  which  served  Sir  John  Franklin  and  his  com¬ 
panions  for  food  in  their  great  distress  during  their 
journey  of  discovery  in  North  America. 

I  said  the  lichens  prepared  the  way  for  other  vegeta- 


UNSEEN  BLOSSOMS. 


67 


tion,  and  it  is  by  tlieir  decay  they  become  a  sort  of 
mould,  into  which  mosses  and  all  the  mushroom  tribe 
may  insert  their  tiny  roots.  The  brown  bristles  upon 
our  bricks  are  the  beginning  of  moss,  and  the  green 
tuft  is  a  collection  of  small  plants  of  moss,  each  per¬ 
fectly  arranged,  like  the  plants  of  larger  organization. 

See,  each  little  moss  plant  has  a  number  of  exquisite 
thready  green  leaves,  spreading  out  round  its  taper 
thread  of  a  stem,  like  the  perfect  model  of  a  lily  plant ; 
but  the  stem,  instead  of  ending  in  blossoms,  has  a  sort 
of  brown  cap  or  purse  at  the  summit,  sometimes  round, 
sometimes  peaked,  sometimes  brown,  and  sometimes 
green.  Under  this  cap  is  a  purse,  with  invisible  seeds. 
The  cap  either  splits  at  the  side  or  falls  off.  and  every¬ 
where  do  these  seeds  grow  in  beds,  containing  myriads 
of  tiny  perfect  moss  trees  at  the  root  of  the  oak  or  the 
beech,  in  the  crannies  between  tile  and  tile,  along  the 
borders  of  neglected  walks,  on  the  sides  of  rocks, 
wherever  they  can  find  the  modicum  of  nourishment 
which  they  need  for  their  little  spark  of  life. 

Though  mosses  are  so  common,  people  have  been 
content  to  call  all  the  kinds  moss,  without  finding  Eng¬ 
lish  names  for  the  different  sorts ;  but  perhaps  you  will 
think  it  as  well  to  be  able  to  tell  one  from  the  other,  so 
I  will  mention  one  or  two  Latin  names. 

There  is  one  graceful,  soft,  bright  light-green  kind, 
like  a  fern  leaf,  twice  pinnate,  and  its  shape  too  elegant 
to  describe,  growing  on  banks  and  under  the  roots  of 
trees,  the  moss  we  chiefly  delight  in,  and  can  pull  out 
in  soft  springy  handfuls,  for  the  making  of  moss- 
baskets,  the  packing  of  flowers,  or  for  the  filling  of 
“  beau-pots,”  with  snowdrops  and  hepaticas  reposing  on 
the  green  bed.  What  a  fresh  smell  comes  with  it,  of 
pure  earth,  as  we  pull  it  out  from  the  great  green 


G8 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


cushion  where  it  grows,  and  where  we  could  hardly 
make  a  hole,  pull  away  as  much  as  we  will !  I  rather 
think  this  mos3  is  that  most  in  esteem  for  lining  the 
cradle  of  the  wren  and  hedge-sparrow,  though  they 
don’t  call  it  by  the  name  I  must  give  you  for  it — the 
proliferous  Hypnum ,  proliferous,  because  it  grows  in 
such  quantities.  Its  long  thread-like  stalks  wear  a 
pointed  night-cap,  like  that  of  the  Elscolcliia ,  like  its 
splitting  at  the  side  when  it  falls  of.  Another  which 
creeps  in  long,  scaly,  light-green  lines  about  the  roots 
of  trees,  is  the  meadow  Hypnum,  and  its  likeness  grow¬ 
ing  on  walls,  the  silken  Hypnum . 

The  Bryurn  moss  is  not  creeping  like  the  Hypnum , 
but  rather  in  little  separate  jrlants,  growing  as  close 
together  as  possible,  as  thick  as  they  can  stick. 

I  have  just  pulled  a  little  tuft  off  a  brick  in  the 
churchyard  wall,  so  small  I  could  hardly  cany  it  home, 
and  yet  containing  no  less  than  eleven  perfect  plants, 
their  brown  stalks  as  slender  as  a  fly’s  leg,  supporting 
little  green  urns,  covered  by  long-pointed  caps,  nearly 
half  off,  and  clusters  of  the  smallest  green  leaves  imagi¬ 
nable  round  the  root.  All  this  I  have  seen  without  a 
glass,  and  so  may  you  any  day.  I  believe  this  is  the 
bearded  Bryum ,  but  I  will  not  make  sure.  One  of 
these  morsels  of  plants  grows  in  quantities  all  over  the 
Avails  of  Jerusalem,  and  some  have  thought  it  might  be 
the  plant  meant  when  avc  hear  Solomon  spoke  of  herbs 
from  the  hyssop  that  groweth  out  of  the  wall  up  to  the 
cedar  of  Lebanon.  The  swan’s-neck  Bryum  is  dark 
green,  groAvingin  bogs  ;  a  dark  moist  plant  it  is,  with 
more  root  than  usual  Avith  mosses,  bringing  up  quanti¬ 
ties  of  Avet  mud  AAuth  it ;  and  generally  where  you  see 
it  looking  smooth  and  cushiony,  is  the  most  quaking 
place.  The  swan’s-neck  wants  so  little  soil  that  it 


UNSEEN  BLOSSOMS. 


69 


covers  tlie  loosest  of  all  the  mud ;  and  if  you  set  your 
foot  on  it,  a  splash,  and  a  leg  painted  with  black  peat, 
is  sure  to  be  the  consequence.  I  fancy  the  green  scaly 
moss  of  our  woods  is  another  Bryum ,  but  I  am  not 
sure. 

Club-mosses  also  grow  in  bogs ;  they  crawl  about  in 
long  imbricated  stems,  that  is,  stems  made  of  leaves 
fitting  one  into  the  other,  and  have  their  capsules  in 
large  round  brown  heads  at  the  end  of  the  stems.  They 
are  called  fox-tails,  and  always  put  me  in  mind  of  the 
fresh  air  of  mountains.  These,  like  the  swan’s-neck, 
prepare  the  way  for  the  turning  wet  marsh  into  firm 
ground,  for  they  begin  to  bind  it,  and  make  it  less 
watery,  and  in  time  fit  to  bear  more  useful  plants. 
The  unseen  blossoms  seem  meant  to  prepare  the  way 
for  others — the  lichens. 

The  lichen  is  the  last  vestige  of  vegetable  life,  and 
also  the  first.  Even  in  the  arctic  regions  it  contrives 
to  grow  upon  the  snow,  and  to  cover  it  with  a  field  of 
dazzling  crimson,  which  has  often  amazed  the  northern 
traveller ;  it  is  the  first  upon  the  rock,  the  first  to  find 
out  that  man’s  hand  is  neglecting  the  constant  rubbing 
and  care  that  alone  can  keep  off’  these  most  snbtile  and 
minute  of  created  things.  On  the  lichen  feeds  the 
moss ;  in  the  soft  damp  nests  formed  by  decaying  moss, 
other  seeds  germinate ;  the  chickweed,  the  tiny  speed¬ 
well,  the  stone-crop,  insert  their  roots,  and  find  nourish¬ 
ment,  till  nature,  or  rather  nature’s  Master,  has  brought 
life  out  of  death,  beauty  and  vigour  out  of  rottenness 
and  decay. 

Nay,  perhaps  to  speak  more  truly,  it  is  flesh  alone 
that  really  corrupts ;  in  the  vegetable  world,  which 
partakes  not  equally  of  our  doom  of  sin,  decay  is  not 
so  much  real  decay  as  a  change  of  life.  Before  the 


70 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


last  leaves  have  died  away  on  the  aged  oak,  the  rotten 
wood  lias  become  a  whole  garden  of  green  flourishing 
plants,  gathering  round  it,  embracing  it,  and  rendering 
its  last  years  as  lovely,  though  not  perhaps  as  noble,  as 
its  prime. 


CHAPTER  X. 

NOVEMBER  PLANTS. 

FERNS. 

We  must  still  keep  to  the  flowerless  plants,  and  there 
are  many  of  them  which  are  exceedingly  beautiful  and 
full  of  interest. 

First  of  these  are  the  ferns,  pretty  green  waving 
plants,  which  seem  to  be  all  leaf  and  nothing  else  ;  but 
these  leaves,  as  they  are  commonly  called,  have  not  the 
same  properties  as  those  of  the  plants  whose  scructure 
is  visible,  and  botanists  therefore  named  them  fronds. 
Look  under  some  high  hedge  or  sheltered  bank,  and 
there  you  will  find  a  profusion  of  long  dark-green 
shining  leaves,  of  a  very  firm  leathery  texture,  and 
with  tough  black  stalks.  This  is  the  fern  called  hart’s- 
tongue,  and  it  is  at  this  time  in  full  blossom,  if  the 
brown  seed-cases  which  it  possesses  may  be  called 
blossoms. 

See  here,  on  the  under  side  of  the  leaf,  or  frond,  are 
a  number  of  pale,  brown,  raised  ridges,  ranged  with  the 
utmost  regularity  along  the  veins  of  the  frond,  a  long 
one  and  a  short  one  alternately,  and  the  brown  colour 
contrasting  very  prettily  with  the  green  of  the  leaf. 
These  brown  ridges  are  cases ;  after  a  time  they  swell 


FERNS. 


71 


and  burst,  disclosing  a  number  of  very  tiny  round 
grains,  which,  perhaps,  you  might  think  were  the  seeds  ; 
but  no  such  thing,  they  are  only  the  purses  that  the 
seeds  are  in,  and  if  we  could  look  at  them  with  such 
magnifying  eyes  as  the  dragon-fly  wears,  we  should  see 
that  they  are  shaped  a  good  deal  like  an  ancient  hel¬ 
met,  and  that  they  contain  a  multitude  of  seeds  smaller 
and  finer  than  dust.  If  you  want  a  multiplication  sum, 
you  may  find  out  how  many  seeds  one  liart’s-tongue 
plant  might  bear  in  a  year,  reckoning  each  purse  to 
contain  fifty  seeds,  each  ridge  four  thousand  five  hun¬ 
dred  purses,  each  frond  eighty  ridges,  and  each  root  to 
produce  twelve  fronds !  I  only  wonder  what  becomes 
of  all  that  do  not  grow,  and  why  the  world  is  not  one 
wood  of  hart’s-tongue. 

So  small  are  the  seeds,  that  gathering  them  is  a  pro¬ 
verb  for  what  is  impossible ;  and,  as  we  tell  little  chil¬ 
dren,  that  if  they  can  put  salt  on  a  bird’s  tail  they  can 
catch  it,  so  it  is  another  saying,  that  by  gathering  fern 
seed  you  may  make  yourself  invisible,  both  being  what 
nobody  has  ever  done. 

The  scaly  hart’s-tongue  grows  on  old  walls ;  its 
fronds  are  small  and  short,  thickly  covered  with  brown 
scales  at  the  back,  and  of  a  curious  zigzag  form.  They 
shrivel  up  to  nothing  without  moisture,  but  spread  out, 
broad  and  polished,  as  soon  as  a  shower  has  refreshed 
them. 

The  handsomest  kind  of  English  fern  is  the  tall 
flowering  fern,  which  our  Saxon  ancestors  named  Os¬ 
mond,  after  one  of  the  titles  of  Thor,  their  god  of  thun¬ 
der.  Perhaps  it  raised  its  high,  firm,  royal-looking 
fronds  round  his  rude  stone  altars,  out  far  away  on 
the  moorland  wastes,  for  it  is  chiefly  found  growing  on 
the  damp,  boggy,  stony  moors,  which  seem  to  act  like 


72 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


sponges,  to  catch  the  water  of  the  clouds,  and  disperse 
it  in  streams  and  rivers  from  among  the  hills. 

Though  it  is  called  the  flowering  fern,  the  brown, 
granular  appearance  which  forms  a  spike  at  the  top  of 
the  frond,  is  not  really  the  blossom ;  it  is  only  formed 
by  the  edges  of  the  leaflets  being  curled  in,  over  the 
almost  invisible  ridge  of  purses. 

In  the  gnarled  heads  of  old  pollards,  in  crevices  of 
stone  walls,  or  on  the  sides  of  quarries,  you  may  often 
see  the  polypody,  its  green  frond  deeply  divided  into 
leaflets,  the  centre  of  those  on  one  side  coming  just 
opposite  to  the  division  of  those  on  the  other.  Here 
the  purses  are  collected  together  in  little  round  golden 
dots,  ranged  regularly  along  the  back  of  the  leaflets. 
I  like  the  polypody,  in  spite  of  its  ugly,  half  Greek, 
half  English  name,  which  means  many  feet.  It  is  one 
of  those  cheerful,  humble  things,  that  seems  to  have  a 
kindness  for  what  is  venerable  and  excellent,  even  in 
decay.  It  hangs  round  the  aged  hollow  tree,  and 
feathers  up  the  broken  arch  of  the  ruined  chapel, 
through  autumn  and  winter,  just  as  we  should  cheer¬ 
fully,  though  soberly,  hold  fast  to  the  old  bulwarks  of 
our  faith,  and  of  our  law,  and  do  our  best  to  adorn 
them  by  our  adherence,  though  some  may  tell  us  that 
their  bright  summer  day  is  gone  and  past,  and  there 
are  only  winter  storms  to  come. 

Another  fern  which  loves  to  deck  the  ruined  wall,  and 
which  I  first  learnt  to  know  among  the  old  tombstones  in 
the  churchyard,  is  the  black  maiden-hair,  a  pretty  little 
plant,  its  stalk  jet  black,  and  tough  as  wire,  the  round 
leaflets  arranged  in  pairs,  with  clusters  of  little  black 
purses  in  round  dots  upon  their  backs.  The  roots,  too, 
are  very  hard  and  black,  and  squeeze  in  perfectly  hat, 
between  stones  and  bricks,  in  the  most  determined  way. 


FERNS. 


73 


The  black  spleenwort,  and  rue-leafed  spleenwort, 
are  also  often  to  be  found  with  fronds  of  a  very  pretty 
shape,  and  the  blossom  spread  over  the  back  in  elegant 
patterns. 

Another  kind,  the  sea  spleenwort,  grows  in  hollows 
of  rocks,  refreshed  by  the  sea-breeze ;  but  the  most 
elegant  of  all  the  race  of  spleenwort  is  the  queen  of 
ferns,  the  exquisite  lady-fern.  Her  frond  is  tall  and 
slender,  delicately  green,  and  beautifully  cut  into  little 
scalloped  and  pointed  side-wings,  with  brown  spots  of 
fruit  at  the  back.  My  Lady-Fern  is  too  choice  and 
elegant  to  be  very  common ;  her  bower  is  usually  the 
shady,  rocky,  woodland  glen,  under  old  gnarled  trees, 
and  by  the  side  of  rushing  streams ;  and  so  tender  is 
she,  that  it  is  nearly  impossible  to  gather  and  carry  her 
home  without  her  withering. 

“  Where  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 

Where  the  fountains  glisten  slieenest, 

Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest. 

There  the  lady-fern  grows  strongest.” 

Worthy  to  be  handmaids  to  this  dainty  lady,  are  the 
far  more  common,  though  scarcely  less  graceful,  shield- 
ferns,  so  called,  because  they  have  a  tiny  brown  shield, 
which  shuts  over  the  assemblage  of  small  helmets,  in 
their  multitudinous  little  dots  of  blossom.  In  early 
spring  we  see  them  on  the  sides  of  dry  banks,  or  under 
hedges,  pushing  up  their  fronds,  doubled  in  half,  folded 
up  tight,  and  covered  with  brown  hair,  looking  like 
some  rough  caterpillar.  As  they  grow  on,  the  fronds, 
with  their  lower  part  unfolded,  and  the  upper  rolled  up 
in  a  graceful  spiral  line,  put  us  in  mind  of  a  shepherd’s 
crook,  or  still  more  of  a  bishop’s  pastoral  staff.  And 
when  they  unfold,  how  beautiful  they  are !  That  long, 
gracefully  swelling,  bending,  tapering,  plumy  form,  like 


74 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


the  feather  in  some  royal  cap  of  state,  so  fair  in  the 
outline  of  the  whole,  and  still  lovelier  when  examined 
closely,  little  plumes  parting  out  on  each  side  of  the 
stalk,  and  each  of  these  bearing  such  beautifully-cut 
little  leaflets,  so  regular  in  their  irregularity,  each  with 
one  lobe  pointed  and  another  swelling,  and  a  little 
sharp  peak  at  the  end  of  each.  No  one  that  has  not 
tried  can  tell  the  pleasure  there  is  in  searching  out  the 
beauty  of  forms  of  one  piece  of  shield-fern  ;  and  though 
all  have  this  general  character,  yet  they  are  so  infi¬ 
nitely  varied,  that  you  will  hardly  find  three  plants 
which  have  their  leaflets  exactly  of  the  same  shape. 
One  is  only  inclined  to  ask,  “  How  can  things  be  so 
beautiful  ?”  And  look  at  the  whole  plant,  with  some 
fronds  standing  up  straight,  some  bending  over  and 
showing  the  little  brown  specks  of  fructification,  the 
shepherd’s  crooks  unfolding  themselves,  and  the  rough 
caterpillars  round  the  root,  all  spreading  out  on  some 
sweet,  shady,  spring  bank,  and  perhaps  feathering  over 
a  bunch  of  primroses  or  of  violets.  Yes,  honour  to  the 
shield-fern,  in  its  quiet  hedgerow  nest,  with  the  glow¬ 
worm  sheltering  under  its  wavy  bower,  and  the  robin 
and  linnet  nestling  in  the  long  grass  behind  its  screen  ;  it 
is  one  of  those  beauteous  things  that  most  aid  to  make 
spring  fair  and  lovely,  and  yet  are  least  regarded. 

Honour,  too,  to  the  brake  or  bracken  in  its  woodland 
or  moorland  haunt,  spreading  its  wings  like  branched 
fronds  on  their  tall  stems,  the  covert  where  the  timid 
fawn  lies  watching  for  its  mother,  and  where  the  grey 
rabbit  sits  with  its  broad  ears  and  large  eyes  turned 
heedfully  about  to  watch  for  the  first  token  of  danger. 
It  is  difficult  to  find  the  seed-bearing  part  of  the  brake, 
as  it  is  not,  as  usual,  in  dots  at  the  back  of  the  frond ; 
but  the  margin  of  the  leaf  is  turned  over  like  a  hem, 


FEKNS. 


75 


and  tlie  purses  are  packed  safely  away  under  this  pro¬ 
tecting  edge.  Its  Latin  name  means  the  eagle-fern, 
perhaps  because  it  is  like  the  outspread  wing  of  an 
eagle ;  but  it  is  also  said  to  be  because,  cut  the  stalk  in 
two  where  you  will,  you  may  always  find  a  dark  mark 
in  the  shape  of  a  spread-eagle,  or  as  some  say,  of  an 
oak  tree. 

It  grows  to  a  great  height  in  damp,  woody  places,  but 
is  short  and  small  on  open  commons,  and  as  it  turns 
brown  early  in  the  year,  before  the  heather  and  dwarf- 
furze  are  in  blossom,  its  brown  tints  blend  with  their 
purple  and  yellow,  and  give  a  beautiful  colouring  to  the 
sides  of  mountains.  I  remember  once  seeing  one  of  the 
hills  on  the  north  coast  of  Somersetshire,  early  in  Au- 
gust,  in  the  full  glow  of  the  heath  and  furze  blossom, 
contrasting  and  mixing  with  the  brown  brake,  and  with 
a  rainbow  standing  across  it,  so  that  the  colours  of  the 
hill,  seen  through  the  rainbow  tints,  were  indescribably 
beautiful,  and  like  nothing  I  have  ever  seen,  except 
those  many-coloured  specimens  of  copper  ore,  called  by 
collectors,  peacock  ores. 

The  bracken  is  the  most  useful  of  all  the  British 
ferns.  It  is  used  as  litter  for  cattle,  and  as  its  ashes 
contain  a  good  deal  of  potash,  they  are  used  in  making 
glass.  In  the  forest  of  Deane,  these  ashes  are  rolled 
up  in  balls  with  clay,  and  serve  for  home-made  soap. 

There  is  a  very  curious  autumn  fern  called  bleclmum, 
or  hard-fern,  which  has  two  sorts  of  fronds,  one  bear¬ 
ing  blossom,  the  other,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  useless. 
It  grows  in  the  same  kind  of  places  as  the  hart’s-tongue. 
The  barren  leaves  are  broad,  and  only  moderately 
scolloped  at  the  edges,  the  fertile  ones,  the  very  skele¬ 
tons  of  leaves,  almost  all  the  green  cut  away,  look¬ 
ing  as  if  it  had  been  eaten  by  caterpillars,  tall,  thin, 


7G 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


starved,  and  curly,  both  together  very  much  like  the 
monsters  that  little  boys  sometimes  draw  on  their  slates 
to  represent  Englishman  and  Frenchmen,  one  all 
breadth,  and  strength,  and  solidity,  the  other  tapered 
and  cut  away  to  nothing. 

The  adder’s-tongue  has  its  fertile  parts  also  on  a 
separate  leaf,  which  is  long  and  narrow ;  but  this  grows 
in  wet,  boggy  places,  and  is  not  very  common,  so  that 
I  doubt  whether  you  will  be  able  to  find  it. 

The  rock-brake,  or  mountain-parsley,  is  a  very 
pretty  kind,  which  grows  on  the  grey  stone  walls  on 
the  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland  hills.  The  barren 
leaves  are  very  elegantly  cut,  like  parsley,  and  the  fer¬ 
tile  ones  small,  and  covered  at  the  back  with  a  pattern 
of  pale  brown. 

The  best  place  for  seeing  ferns  is  in  rocky  woods, 
near  streams ;  for  though  they  do  grow  in  hedgerows 
and  woods,  in  more  fertile  places,  it  is  by  no  means  as 
well,  or  as  luxuriantly.  Their  proper  home  is  on  the 
rugged  side  of  some  steep  bank  of  rock,  nodding  over 
some  clear,  dashing  mountain  stream,  which  keeps 
them  ever  damp  with  its  spray,  hanging  almost  into 
the  waterfall,  and  clinging  to  huge  bare  stones  which 
the  foot  of  man  has  never  trod.  High  up,  the  hart’s- 
tongue  stretches  out  its  tall  clusters  of  dark  shining 
leaves,  contrasting  with  the  sober  rock ;  on  the  bank, 
the  osmond  raises  its  high  and  royal  head.  The  poly¬ 
pody  and  the  little  black  maiden-hair  creep  about  in 
the  crevices  of  the  ivy  and  moss-grown  stones,  while 
between  them,  and  in  all  their  clefts  and  crannies,  the 
lady-fern,  and  all  her  shield-bearing  attendants,  are 
feathering  themselves  up  in  the  pride  of  their  beauty, 
rejoicing  in  the  pure  fresh  air,  and  delicious  shade. 
It  is  a  strange  and  solemn  thought,  that  there  is  so 


FERNS. 


77 


much  wondrous  beauty  in  this  world  that  man  neither 
sees  nor  regards.  It  makes  us  wonder  whether  the 
angels  see  it,  and  marvel  at  our  carelessness  of  the  fair 
gifts  which  have  been  bestowed  on  us. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  world,  ferns  are  more 
important  than  they  are  here.  The  fern  root  is  the 
chief  food  of  the  native  of  New  Zealand,  and  in  South 
America  they  are  actual  trees,  hardly  to  be  distin¬ 
guished  in  the  appearance  of  their  foliage  from  palm 
trees  themselves ;  but  these  wonderful  tree-ferns  seem 
peculiar  to  that  strange  half  of  the  world,  where  every¬ 
thing  is  contrary  to  what  we  see  it  here. 

Yet  ferns  and  mosses,  and  those  odd  creeping  things, 
club-mosses,  which  we  find  in  peaty  bogs,  have  done 
wonders  for  us  here,  and  things  which  we  can  by  no 
means  understand. 

Peat,  as  those  see  for  themselves  who  are  used  to  a 
peat  fire,  who  have  helped  to  pile  up  the  stacks  to  dry, 
and  who  think  a  wood  or  coal  fire  far  less  agreeable, 
consists  of  decayed  moss  and  other  vegetable  matter, 
apparently  matted  and  pressed  together.  So  it  is  in 
the  great  Irish  bogs,  which  the  people  love  so  well,  that 
they  say  that  the  finest  country  looks  lone  and  cold 
without  a  bit  of  a  bog  in  it. 

Far  down,  this  peat  is  black  and  hard,  and  it  is  be¬ 
lieved  by  geologists,  that  from  having  been  subjected 
to  very  hard  pressure,  as  well  as  to  the  action  of  fire, 
it  has  in  the  course  of  thousands  of  years  become  coal ! 
There  is  a  marvellous  notion  !  but  what  makes  it  seem  to 
be  true,  and  what  indeed  probably  put  it  into  the  heads 
of  these  searchers  into  the  hidden  things  of  the  earth, 
is,  that  it  is  not  uncommon  to  find  impressed  upon  the 
surface  of  a  piece  of  coal  the  exact  form  of  a  fern  leaf, 
or  of  a  piece  of  some  large  moss,  like  the  print  of  a 


78 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


seal.  I  remember  when  I  used  to  have  a  great  desire 
to  find  one  of  these  fern-leaf  pieces,  and  being  once 
caught  in  the  coal-hole  in  the  midst  of  a  search ;  but  I 
never  found  one,  and  I  would  not  recommend  you  to 
follow  my  example,  as  I  believe  the  colliers  always  pick 
out  these  pieces  and  sell  them  as  curiosities ;  but  if  ever 
you  meet  with  a  collection  of  minerals,  you  will  proba¬ 
bly  see  one  of  these  curious  impressions. 

What  makes  it  still  more  wonderful  is,  that  the  ferns 
are  not  such  as  grow  in  England,  but  are  of  the  large 
handsome  kinds  which  are  now  only  seen  growing  in 
tropical  countries,  so  that  it  is  thought  this  part  of  the 
globe  must  once  have  been  much  hotter  than  at  pre¬ 
sent.  Or  rather,  we  may  perceive  how  very  little  we 
know  about  the  matter  at  all,  and  that  every  fresh 
thing  we  learn  is  but  like  a  window  opening  to  show 
an  immense  field  far  beyond,  in  every  direction,  which 
we  can  never  explore  thoroughly. 

“  Canst  thou  by  searching  find  out  God?”  Search¬ 
ing  to  the  utmost  will  not  enable  us  to  find  out  the 
nearest  of  His  works ;  and  yet  He,  the  Maker  of  all, 
lias  made  us  know  more  of  Himself  than  all  our  search¬ 
ing  can  find  out  respecting  one  of  the  golden  dots  on  a 
fern  leaf. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DECEMBER  FLOWERS. 

CHRISTMAS  EVERGREENS. 

December  is  come,  and  Advent  with  it,  warning  us  to 
look  forward  to  Christmas,  with  all  its  mixture  of  solemn 
thoughts,  and  of  joyful  ones,  of  seriousness  and  mirth. 

And  as  the  animal  world  had  its  share  in  the  joy  of 
the  first  Christmas  season,  when  the  ox  and  the  ass 


CHRISTMAS  EVERGREENS. 


79 


welcomed  their  Maker  as  their  Guest  in  their  cavern - 
ed  stable,  when  He  first  was  despised  and  rejected  of 
men ;  so  the  vegetable  world  of  creation  lias  had  its 
invitation  to  join  with  Christians  in  the  bright 
greetings  of  His  coming,  year  by  year.  “  The  glory  of 
Lebanon  shall  come  unto  Me,  the  fir-tree,  the  pine- 
tree,  and  the  box  together,  to  beautify  the  place  of 
My  sanctuary,  and  I  will  make  the  place  of  My  feet 
glorious.” 

Many  a  tree  does  its  part  in  making  the  sanctuary 
glorious  with  carved  work ;  the  cedar  in  southern 
countries,  and  the  oak  in  our  own,  have  especially  this 
honour ;  but  this  is  with  their  solid  wood,  the  beam 
and  the  timber.  In  the  southern  hemisphere,  where 
of  course  the  same  Christmas  as  ours  is  kept,  but  where 
the  25th  of  December  is  a  long,  bright  summer’s 
day,  like  what  St.  John  Baptist’s  is  here,  there  are 
wreaths  of  gay  flowers  to  dress  the  churches,  and  in 
flowery  Mexico,  the  whole  space  round  the  altar  is  a 
very  wood  of  fragrant  orange  trees  and  roses. 

We  so  prize  and  love  our  plant  of  sacred  joy,  that 
its  winter  title  is  Christmas,  and  at  all  times  it  is  known 
as  holly,  or  holy,  a  little  altered,  just  as  holy  day  has 
become  changed  into  holiday.  For  its  proper  name  is 
holm,  and  some  people  make  the  distinction  of  calling 
that  holm  which  has  no  berries. 

Who  does  not  know  the  pleasure  of  setting  out  on 
Christmas-Eve  with  knife  and  basket,  to  bring  home 
the  bright  prickly  boughs,  the  choosing  and  picking, 
the  jumping  and  climbing  for  the  best  pieces,  with  the 
thickest  necklaces  of  coral  beads  wound  round  and 
round  them  ?  But  mind  one  thing  on  this  merry  ex¬ 
pedition,  do  not  break  and  tear  the  trees,  do  as  you 
would  if  their  master  was  looking  at  you  ;  for  remember 


so 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


it  is  no  way  of  doing  God  honour  to  take  what  is  not 
lawfully  permitted. 

What  pleasure  in  carrying  it  home !  admiring  at 
every  step  the  thick  clustered  berries,  and  the  dark 
glossy  leaves,  so  pinched  up  and  tapered  off  into  their 
strong  solid  spines  ;  what  pleasure  in  showing  it  to 
mother,  and  in  sticking  it  wherever  it  will  go,  over  the 
fire-place,  everywhere  about  the  dresser,  and  espe¬ 
cially  in  the  window,  to  peep  out,  and,  as  it  were,  to 
say  to  every  passer  ly,  “  Christmas !  Christmas  is 
come !”  Is  it  not  a  Christmas  carol  in  itself  ? 

Then  there  is  the  taking  it  to  school,  and  hoping 
that  the  mistress  has  not  had  more  brought  to  her 
already  than  will  cover  all  the  bonnet  pegs.  Where 
the  bonnets  are  to  go,  nobody  knows  or  cares  just  at 
present,  places  for  holly  are  all  that  is  wanted.  Then 
there  is  the  sending  it  into  the  next  town  for  some 
sister,  or  cousin,  or  aunt,  who  cannot  get  any  holly  for 
herself,  and  would  hardly  know  Christmas  without  it. 
And  perhaps  some  children  who  read  this  chapter  may 
have  a  greater  pleasure  still ;  perhaps  they  may  have 
been  chosen  to  help  in  the  solemn  work  of  beautifying 
the  place  of  the  sanctuary,  of  dressing  the  church  with 
the  beautiful  green  boughs.  Highly-honoured  children, 
take  care,  remember  that  this  is  work  fit  for  angels,  and 
that  those  who  share  in  it  should  be  as  like  angels  as 
they  may,  while  still  divelling  upon  earth. 

You,  too,  who  are  not  called  on  to  take  part  in  this 
work,  remember  that  you  in  your  own  places  may  still 
be  beautifying  the  sanctuary,  growing  up  as  the  young 
plants,  and  bearing  fruits  of  righteousness,  fit  for  the 
holy  trees  which  the  Lord  hath  planted  in  His  own 
garden,  to  form  His  crown  of  rejoicing  at  the  last  day. 

Those  thorns  and  red  berries  have  a  very  solemn 


CHRISTMAS  EVERGREENS. 


81 


meaning,  for  they  are  to  remind  us  of  our  blessed 
Lord’s  Crown  of  Thorns,  and  of  the  thick,  heavy  drops 
of  precious  Blood  that  He  shed  for  our  sake ;  for  had 
not  those  drops  been  poured  out,  Christmas  would  have 
had  no  joy  or  mirth  for  us.  They  must  remind  us,  too, 
as  I  said  before,  of  the  fruits  which  are  required  from 
us.  of  the  suffering  that  comes  before  glory,  and  of  the 
hedge  of  thorns  and  pricks  which  meets  the  sinful  man. 
Noble  tree,  how  many  deep  lessons,  and  how  much  of 
cheerfulness  has  our  Maker  implanted  in  it ! 

One  more  lesson  still,  for  you  may  observe  in  an  old 
holly  bush,  growing  in  a  good  damp  soil,  never  clipped, 
and  not  liable  to  be  eaten  by  cattle,  that  the  leaves, 
especially  near  the  top,  cease  to  arm  themselves  with 
prickles,  and  only  have  one  sharp  dart  at  the  point. 
So  if  we  have  any  sharpness  or  evil  tempers  in  our 
youth,  we  must,  as  we  grow  older  and  nearer  heaven, 
smooth  them  gradually  away, 

“Till  the  smooth  temper  of  our  age  should  be 
Like  the  high  leaves  upon  the  holly  tree.” 

The  holly  tree  blossoms  about  May,  and  has  a  small 
white  flower  in  clusters  round  the  little  boughs,  with 
four  stamens  and  four  pistils,  very  short,  and  all  joined 
together.  These  four  pistils  become  four  seeds,  each 
with  a  separate  cell,  within  the  scarlet  jacket  of  the 
berry.  A  young  holly  plant  is  very  pretty  when  it 
first  comes  up,  with  a  very  small  brown  leaf  on  each 
side  of  the  little  stem,  with  all  their  little  spears  stand¬ 
ing  boldly  out  on  all  sides,  still  too  soft  to  prick  at  all. 

Sometimes  holly  is  found  with  yellow  berries,  and 
sometimes  the  leaves  are  variegated,  with  a  white 
trimming  all  round  the  leaf.  These  are  prettiest  at 
the  time  of  the  midsummer  shoot,  when  the  young 
white  leaves  are  quite  pink.  Or  there  is  a  variegated 

6 


82 


THE  HERB  OF  TnE  FIELD. 


sort  in  shrubberies,  with  the  whole  surface  of  the  leaf 
bristling  with  little  spines  like  a  sea-porcupine. 

After  all,  none  of  these  new  fashions  are  equal  to  the 
noble  old  holly  tree,  rising  up  with  the  dark  green 
leaves  so  proudly  in  the  midst  of  the  heathy  wood, 
casting  such  a  shade  around,  and  affording  such  a 
shelter  close  to  the  trunk.  Or  a  tall,  clipped  holly 
hedge,  a  very  wall  for  closeness,  far  higher  than  gar¬ 
den  wall  ever  was  built,  and  giving  one  a  notion  of 
breadth,  firmness,  shelter,  and  resoluteness  in  defend¬ 
ing  its  master’s  property. 

The  most  famous  holly  hedge  that  ever  existed  was 
at  Says  Court,  the  house  of  Mr.  Evelyn,  a  very  ex¬ 
cellent  man,  who  lived  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.,  and 
who  delighted  in  trees  with  all  his  heart.  Ilis  hedge 
had  a  great  misfortune ;  for  when  the  Emperor  Peter 
the  Great  of  Russia  came  to  England  to  learn  ship¬ 
building,  Mr.  Evelyn  was  desired  to  lend  him  his  house 
at  Says  Court,  and  Peter,  who  had  not  learnt  in  his  own 
country  to  take  much  care  of  other  people’s  property, 
not  only  put  the  house  in  great  disorder  and  spoilt  the 
furniture,  but  chose  for  his  favourite  amusement,  to 
be  driven  in  a  wheelbarrow  through  the  midst  of  the 
famous  holly  hedge.  I  wonder  why  he  could  have 
chosen  such  a  sport !  Perhaps  it  was  for  the  sake  of 
mischief,  or  perhaps  it  put  him  in  mind  of  storming  a 
town,  for  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  almost  as  dis¬ 
agreeable.  People  will  do  things  for  play,  at  which 
they  would  grumble  finely  if  they  were  obliged  to  do 
them. 

The  holly  tree  has  kept  us  a  long  time,  and  we  must 
go  on  to  its  companion  evergreens.  I  believe  the 
reason  evergreens  do  not  lose  their  leaves  in  autumn 
is,  that  the  sap  does  not  cease  to  flow  into  the  foot- 


CHRISTMAS  EVERGREENS. 


83 


stalks  till  the  next  summer,  after  the  young  leaves  have 
budded  forth,  so  that  the  stems  are  never  left  quite 
bare.  You  may  observe,  too,  how  thick  and  leathery 
is  the  texture  of  the  holly  leaf ;  so  thick,  that  the  ribs 
are  hardly  visible,  but  seem  covered  with  a  double 
case,  the  dark  green  upper  skin,  and  the  pale  green 
lining.  The  ribs,  though  they  appear  so  little,  are 
very  firm  and  strong,  and  survive  all  the  rest  of  the 
leaf,  as  does  the  hard  horny  border  which  edges  the 
leaf,  and  forms  the  spines.  You  may  see  the  form 
in  the  skeletons  of  last  year’s  leaves,  under  the  holly 
tree. 

Mistletoe,  curious  thing,  is  the  next  companion  of 
holly.  As  to  its  name,  that  is  a  difficult  question. 
Missel  is  said  to  mean  to  soil,  and  the  plant  to  be  so 
called  because  its  berries  soil  the  claws  of  the  missel- 
thrushes  ;  but  then,  on  the  other  hand,  those  learned 
in  birds,  say  that  the  thrush  is  so  called  because  it  soils 
its  toes  with  the  berries ;  and  so  I  suppose  the  mistle¬ 
toe  and  misselthrushes  must  settle  as  they  can  which  is 
the  original  owner  of  the  name. 

Mistletoe  has  come  to  a  Christian  use  at  last,  though 
everyone  who  has  read  a  page  of  English  history  knows 
what  a  part  it  used  to  play  in  the  old  days  of  the 
Druids.  I  daresay  you  are  tired  of  the  old  story  of  the 
Arclidruid  climbing  up  the  oak  tree  with  his  golden 
knife,  and  the  others  catching  the  mistletoe  in  the  white 
cloth  below.  The  chief  wonder  is,  where  they  found 
it  on  an  oak  tree,  for  in  all  England  in  these  days  there 
is  only  one  piece  known  to  be  so  growing.  Did  they 
use  it  all  up,  or  was  it  only  its  rarity  that  made  it  so 
precious  ? 

In  our  days  it  grows  on  thorns  and  apple  trees, 
serving  them  instead  of  their  own  leaves  in  winter,  on 


84 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


poplars  and  limes,  and  on  many  other  kinds  of  trees. 
It  roots  itself  in  their  branches,  and  feeds  on  their  sap, 
instead  of  drawing  its  own  from  the  earth.  Plants 
growing  in  this  manner  are  called  parasites.  It  has  a 
bushy  stem,  often  forked,  of  the  same  pale,  yellowish 
green,  or  greenish  yellow,  as  the  round  hard  leaves. 
The  blossoms  are  of  the  same  colour,  and  the  stamens 
and  pistils  not  only  grow  in  different  flowers,  but  on 
different  plants ;  some  plants  having  four  stamens  in 
each  of  their  blossoms,  and  others  two  pistils  in  each 
of  theirs.  This  explains  why  some  pieces  of  mistletoe 
have  no  berries,  since,  as  you  know,  stamens  can  never 
become  seeds.  The  berries  are  white,  about  the  size 
of  a  currant,  and  contain  two  seeds,  in  the  midst  of  a 
quantity  of  very  sticky  pulp. 

In  some  places  the  beautiful  fruit  of  the  skewer- 
wood,  or  spindle-tree,  is  used  with  the  holly  and 
mistletoe.  It  is  extremely  pretty,  consisting  of  five 
round,  pink  purses,  all  joined  together  in  the  middle, 
and  with  a  cleft  in  the  centre  of  each  side,  which 
opens  and  shows  a  seed,  enclosed  in  a  brilliant,  dark 
orange,  wrinkled  skin,  contrasting  with  the  bright  pink 
outside.  Though  pink  and  orange  certainly  would 
look  frightful  together  in  our  bad  imitated  painting, 
yet  in  nature’s  oivn  exquisite  colouring,  nothing  can 
be  more  lovely.  The  blossom  is  nothing  like  so  pretty 
as  the  fruit,  it  is  small  and  green,  and  belongs  to  the 
great  order  of  pentagon  flowers,  as,  indeed,  might  be 
guessed  from  the  five-cleft  form  of  its  beautiful  purses. 
The  leaf  is  not  evergreen,  and  has,  long  ago,  departed ; 
the  wood  is  very  hard,  and  is  used  for  spindles  and 
skewers. 

Now  for  ivy,  graceful  ivy,  with  its  dark  green  leaves, 
of  such  multitudes  of  different  forms.  Only  try  to 


CHRISTMAS  EVERGREENS. 


85 


find  two  plants  with  their  leaves  alike.  Some  have 
three  points,  some  again  five,  spreading  out  like  fin¬ 
gers  ;  some  even  seven,  with  perhaps  a  little  excres¬ 
cence  on  each  side,  close  to  the  stalk,  as  if  it  wanted  to 
grow  out  into  two  more ;  some  have  obtuse  angles, 
and  a  broad  space  of  leaf ;  others  have  long-pointed 
lingers,  cut  away  into  peaks,  flounced  and  furbelowed 
here  and  there.  If  the  ivy  plant  is  sick,  or  has  got 
into  poor  ground,  it  does  not  wither  and  pine,  not  it, 
but  it  paints  its  face  gayer  than  ever,  and  comes  out 
in  some  new  freak,  either  with  bright  red  leaves  and 
yellow  veins,  or  with  yellow  leaves  and  red  veins ; 
not  a  pining  green  and  yellow  melancholy,  but  all 
glowing  and  gay,  as  if  resolved  to  put  a  good  face  on 
the  matter,  and  not  own  that  it  is  uncomfortable.  It 
is  just  in  the  same  way  that  it  tries  to  persuade  the 
trees  that  they  are  leafy  and  green,  instead  of  being 
old  and  dry.  and  dead.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  make 
a  collection  of  ivy  leaves  of  different  forms.  A  cheer¬ 
ful  thing  it  is,  winter  and  summer  all  alike,  catching 
the  light  on  its  dark  glistening  leaves,  so  that  they 
glance  like  a  stream  of  white  sunshine  all  down  the 
trunk  of  the  tree. 

In  every  shady  place  the  ivy  will  grow ;  the  beech 
tree  is  the  only  one  which  does  not  foster  it.  It 
creeps  along  the  ground,  stretching  out  long  green 
feelers,  with  tender  little  leaves,  till  it  finds  a  tree  or 
a  wall  to  fasten  itself  upon.  Its  fastenings  are  very 
curious ;  they  are  little,  soft,  short  fibres,  like  a  cater¬ 
pillar’s  feet,  or  like  a  short,  rough  beard.  They  are 
not  roots,  for  the  ivy  has  its  own  root  in  the  ground, 
and  lives  on  its  own  resources,  instead  of  sucking  the 
sap  of  the  tree,  though  perhaps  they  may  imbibe  the 
moisture  of  the  rain  and  dew.  As  the  ivy  grows 


86 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


older,  the  lower  stems  become  actually  wood,  bark 
without  and  yellow  solid  wood  within,  sometimes  grow¬ 
ing  so  large  that  boxes,  and  even  a  small  work-table, 
have  been  made  of  them.  These  large  woody  stems 
generally  cease  to  have  fibres,  though  I  have  seen  one  so 
thickly  overgrown  with  them,  close,  rough,  and  brown, 
that  it  looked  like  some  shaggy  animal  climbing  up  the 
tree.  It  is  the  creeping  clinging  shoots  that  bear  the 
curiously-lobed  leaves,  which  never  have  any  blossoms. 
It  is  not  till  they  have  reached  the  top  of  the  wall,  or 
the  large  branches  of  the  tree,  and  have  established 
a  good  hold  on  them,  that  they  begin  to  throw  out 
branches,  bending  downwards,  without  beards,  and 
with  leaves  heart-shaped  or  round  instead  of  peaked 
and  fingered,  only  resembling  the  lower  ones  in  the 
dark  colour,  solid  texture,  and  the  numerous  principal 
veins  all  rising  at  once  from  the  long  footstalk. 

At  the  end  of  these  upper  branches  there  form, 
towards  the  autumn,  round  heads  of  blossoms,  each 
upon  a  little  green  stalk,  with  a  tiny  calyx  of  five 
black  teeth,  supporting  five  small,  green,  spreading 
petals,  within  which  grow  five  stamens,  surrounding 
a  round  yellow  germ,  which  bears  a  short  style  and 
no  stigma. 

As  the  blossom  of  the  ivy  does  not  come  out  till 
October,  the  black  berries  are  hardly  ripe  till  after 
Christmas ;  they  hang  on  for  a  long  time,  and  are  the 
great  store-house  of  the  birds  in  the  spring,  when  all 
the  autumn  berries  are  gone. 

This  bushy,  tangled,  blossoming,  round-leaved  part 
of  the  ivy  is  indeed  precious  to  the  birds,  for  it  is 
their  winter  dwelling-house  as  well  as  their  granary. 
Hear  what  a  chirping  and  scolding  of  sparrows  pro¬ 
ceeds  from  it,  as  if  all  the  rogues  were  chattering  at 


CHRISTMAS  EVERGREENS. 


87 


once,  like  a  set  of  idle  children ;  and  here  they  come, 
tumbling  out,  flapping  their  wings,  rolling  about  in  the 
air,  screaming  and  chattering,  far  too  angry  to  think 
where  they  are  going,  till  suddenly  they  find  them¬ 
selves  falling,  they  put  their  wings  to  the  right  use, 
perch  on  some  tree,  cock  up  their  tails,  give  a  sell- 
satisfied  twitter,  and  there  is  an  end  of  the  quarrel. 

How  often  the  blackbird  comes  rushing  out,  in  a 
terrible  flight,  giving  a  loud  screaming  twit,  twit,  twit, 
just  as  if  for  the  sake,  foolish  fellow,  of  telling  where 
his  nest,  with  the  green  muddy-looking  eggs,  is  to  be 
found  !  What  a  notion  of  snugness,  and  dignified  great 
eyes,  perfectly  at  home,  is  conveyed  by  the  saying, 
“  an  owl  in  an  ivy  bush !”  And  how  many  children 
are  there  who  do  not  love  the  very  brown  back  of  that 
charming  book  which  begins,  “In  a  hole,  which  time 
had  made  in  a  wall,  covered  with  ivy,  a  pair  of  red¬ 
breasts  had  built  their  nest,”  and  who  look  at  every 
ivied  wall  as  the  home  of  Robin,  Dicky,  Flapsy,  and 
Pecksy  ? 

Old  ruins  are  the  especial  place  for  ivy,  which  hangs 
over  the  wall,  trying  to  shroud  and  cheer  its  decay, 
stretching  its  delicate  young  shoots  gracefully  along 
the  shafts  and  columns,  as  if  to  cover  them  with  those 
exquisite  mouldings  and  forms  of  nature,  which  put  to 
shame  the  best  that  man  can  accomplish. 

Another  of  our  pretty  Christmas  berries  is  the  knee- 
holm,  or  butcher’s-broom,  a  low  plant  which  grows  on 
heaths.  It  has  a  dark,  green -branched  stem,  bearing 
a  number  of  egg-shaped  evergreen  leaves,  each  ter¬ 
minating  in  a  very  sharp  prickle.  On  these  leaves  are 
perched  the  very  small  green  blossoms,  stemless,  and 
sitting  on  the  leaves.  Some  plants  have  three-stamened 
flowers;  other  flowers  with  a  single  pistil,  which  by 


88 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


the  winter  becomes  a  large  round  berry,  of  a  beautiful 
waxen-looking  red,  sitting  in  great  dignity  on  its  dark 
pointed  leaf. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

JANUARY  PLANTS. 

NEEDLE  TREES. 

Here  we  come  to  our  walls  and  ramparts.  I  do  not 
mean  the  wooden  walls  of  old  England,  but  the  ram¬ 
parts  of  the  whole  world,  against  a  very  sharp-cutting 
enemy,  who  wears  a  beautiful  thick  white  sparkling 
coat,  brings  with  him  a  quantity  of  sharp  little  spears 
and  diamond  weapons,  and  perhaps  this  very  New 
Year’s  Day  may  be  driving  pins  and  needles  into  your 
fingers  and  toes,  and  pinching  your  nose  till  it  is  fast 
turning  into  a  purple  button,  to  say  nothing  of  heaving 
carrots  and  turnips  out  of  the  ground  with  fairy  levers, 
of  splitting  lumps  of  chalk  into  flakes,  and  of  spreading 
a  marble  surface  over  the  pond. 

Ah  !  you  know  now  that  I  mean  the  gentleman 
whom  the  ancients  used  to  call  Boreas,  or  north  wind, 
but  whom  we  know  by  the  less  grand  and  more  homely 
name  of  Jack  Frost. 

After  all,  we  hardly  like  to  call  Jack  Frost  an 
enemy,  when  he  comes  so  pleasantly  to  clear  away  the 
dark  heavy  mist,  clean  up  the  muddy  roads,  brighten 
everything,  spread  his  beautiful  tracery  on  the  window- 
pane,  and  make  such  delightful  slides  on  all  the  pools. 
Yes,  he  is  a  pleasant  visitor  for  well-clotlied,  healthy, 


NEEDLE  TREES. 


89 


active  people  ;  but  that  is,  thanks  to  these  ramparts, 
these  guards  which  I  spoke  of,  who  let  no  more  of  his 
battalions  come  through  them  than  is  good  for  us,  but 
stand  boldly  up  to  keep  him  out  with  a  close  phalanx 
of  spear  points  as  sharp  as  his  own. 

Between  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  Jack  Frost’s 
domains,  whether  in  his  own  especial  kingdom,  the 
North  Pole,  or  in  his  scattered  fortresses,  the  moun¬ 
tain  tops,  where  he  has  reigned  alone  since  the  begin¬ 
ning  of  the  world,  there  stands  a  whole  army  of  war¬ 
riors,  their  tall,  straight,  lofty  heads,  pointing  up  to  the 
sky,  their  many  arms  bending  round  on  all  sides,  and 
bearing  more  spears,  and  spikes,  and  daggers,  than 
even  the  hundred-armed  giant  we  hear  of  in  old  fables. 

Countless  are  those  tall,  slender  guards,  in  their 
garments  of  dark  green  and  silver ;  bold,  honest,  and 
true  they  are,  scarce  bending  their  heads  to  many  a 
fierce  wild  attack  and  storm  of  their  besieger,  General 
Frost ;  and  though  not  exactly  “  each  stepping  where 
his  comrade  stood,”  yet  if  one  does  crash  and  give  way 
beneath  some  sudden  blast  or  some  lightning  bolt, 
holding  him  up  and  supporting  him  for  years  upon 
years  on  their  strong  faithful  arms,  even  perhaps  till 
his  sons  have  grown  old  enough  to  take  his  place  in 
the  ranks. 

They  bear  the  whole  weight  of  the  tremendous 
avalanche  of  the  Swiss  mountain,  and  by  their  mul¬ 
titude  and  firmness,  stop  it  from  descending  upon  the 
village,  and  crushing  house  and  inhabitant  beneath  it ; 
and  they  may  well  guard  the  house,  for  they  them¬ 
selves  have  a  large  share  in  its  building.  Nay,  even 
though  cut  down,  and  carried  far  from  their  native 
homes,  they  guard  our  thresholds  and  support  our 
roofs  still. 


90 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Has  t-liis  been  a  long  riddle,  and  have  you  not  found 
out  who  these  brave  defenders  are  ?  Well,  I  will  help 
you  to  their  name.  At  their  head  there  is  the  stately 
and  highly-honoured  cedar ;  the  Chilian  sentinels,  who 
wear  scaly  green  armour,  are  called  Araucaria  Imbri- 
cata,  or  Puzzle  Monkey,  because  even  the  monkeys 
cannot  climb  them,  so  cased  are  they  in  pointed  scales. 
The  main  body  of  warriors  in  America,  Norway,  and 
Switzerland,  are  the  pines,  and  where  we  see  them  in 
comparatively  fewer  numbers,  where  they  are  less 
needed,  we  call  them  firs.  It  is  said  that  at  Florence, 
where  these  shields  from  the  cold  blasts  of  the  Appe- 
nines  have  been  cut  down,  it  has  become  so  much 
colder,  that  many  tender  plants  have  ceased  to  grow 
there. 

We  have  very  little  idea,  from  such  as  we  see  here, 
whether  singly  or  in  plantations,  of  what  the  real  grena¬ 
dier  guards  are — the  great  pine-forests  of  America  and 
Norway,  with  their  dark  depths  and  solemn  stillness ; 
indeed,  we  are  so  far  removed  from  the  enemy’s  borders, 
that  Providence  has  not  made  one  pine  native  to  Eng¬ 
land,  and  there  is  only  one  British  sort,  namely,  the 
Scottish  pine,  which  is  usually  called  a  fir. 

However,  we  see  enough  of  them  in  plantations  to 
perceive  how  beautifully  they  are  constructed  for  their 
object.  Look  at  the  spruce  fir,  the  commonest  kind,  a 
Norwegian  species,  and  see  its  tall  spiring  head,  grow¬ 
ing  by  straight  shoots,  one  perpendicular,  the  others 
perhaps  three  in  number,  spreading  out  in  different 
directions,  all  slight,  and  with  their  dark  neeclle-leaves 
following  their  direction,  and  keeping  to  them,  close 
and  snug,  so  as  to  afford  no  opportunity  to  the  wind  to 
get  hold  of  them  and  tear  them  off.  You  may  tell  a 
fir  from  a  pine  by  the  leaves ;  those  of  the  fir  grow  out 


NEEDLE  TREES. 


91 


singly,  while  those  of  the  pine  have  little  bundles  of 
long  points,  all  springing  from  one  point. 

If  the  fir  or  pine  was  not  evergreen,  it  would  not  so 
keep  back  the  forces  of  winter ;  if  its  leaves  were 
broader,  like  those  of  the  laurel,  they  would  flutter  in 
the  wind  and  be  torn  off ;  if  its  head  was  not  tapering, 
so  as  to  be  yielding  towards  the  top,  it  could  never 
bear  the  force  of  the  storm,  but  would  break  short  off. 
Therefore  each  successive  year,  as  it  puts  out  the  one 
upper  shoot,  it  strengthens  all  those  that  groAv  beneath 
it,  and  each  tier  of  branches  also  put  out  a  star  of 
shoots  at  their  extremities,  so  that  it  is  thicker  and 
stronger  in  the  lower  part. 

It  is  likely,  too,  that  these  lower  branches  will  have 
a  considerable  weight  of  snow  to  bear,  since  they  do 
not  let  it  fall  through  them  like  the  leafless  boughs  of 
deciduous  shrubs.  Therefore — but  this  you  can  only 
see  in  a  very  large  fir  tree,  such  as  we  do  not  often 
find  here — they  grow  in  a  graceful  bending  form, 
sweeping  down  from  the  main  stem,  spreading  out 
backs  ridged  like  the  roof  of  a  house,  and  arched  to 
give  them  strength  to  bear  the  snow,  and  always  taper¬ 
ing  downwards  so  as  to  let  it  gradually  fall  off,  and 
thus  avoiding  the  being  crushed  under  it.  The  wood, 
too,  is  extremely  hard  in  these  branches,  as  any  car¬ 
penter  or  woodman  will  tell  you,  and  yet  such  is  the 
weight  of  these  long  sweeping  boughs,  that  compara¬ 
tively  a  slight  blow  on  the  upper  part,  near  the  trunk, 
will  snap  them  off. 

The  fir  tree,  too,  takes  considerable  care  of  its  seeds, 
since  they  have  to  grow  up  in  such  inclement  places. 
Its  blossoms  are  maturing  from  the  autumn  in  little 
round  scaly  buds,  which  old  Evelyn  calls  “  their  winter 
lodge.”  In  summer  these  buds  expand,  the  barren 


92 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


ones  into  a  sort  of  catkin  covered  with  very  yellow 
pollen,  the  fertile  into  a  little  delicate  soft  fir-cone, 
consisting  of  a  succession  of  scales,  fitting  beautifully 
one  into  the  other ;  and  wedged  into  the  very  bottom 
of  these  scales,  are  two  very  small  seeds,  they  can 
hardly  be  called  pistils,  as  they  have  no  style,  and 
scarcely  any  stigma.  The  scales  only  open  themselves 
for  a  little  while,  just  to  let  in  the  pollen ;  as  soon  as 
that  is  done  they  shut  themselves  close  up  again,  like 
a  box,  over  the  little  seeds,  and  there  the  cones  hang 
on  the  under  side  of  the  branch  in  pairs,  firm,  com¬ 
pact  things,  a  fortification  in  themselves,  each  scale 
serving  to  guard  not  only  its  own  charge  of  twin  seeds, 
but  those  of  all  the  rest ;  for  one  scale  of  a  fir-cone 
cannot  be  pulled  off  without  spoiling  the  appearance  of 
the  whole  cone. 

The  Scottish  pine,  and  some  others,  have  scales 
which  are  actually  little  wedges  of  solid  wood,  which 
are  not  easy  to  pull  apart  till  the  seed  is  ripe,  when 
they  fall  down  and  open  of  themselves.  The  Wey¬ 
mouth  pine  has  perhaps  the  nicest  cones,  long  and 
narrow,  with  even  brown  scales,  fitting  one  over 
another  like  armour,  and  ranged  in  a  spiral  winding 
line,  not  in  rings,  but  each  single  scale  growing  a  little 
higher  than  the  last.  They  are  the  pleasantest  to  pick 
up,  and  look  prettiest  when  burning,  when  the  main 
part  of  the  cone  is  black,  and  every  scale  has  a  flame- 
coloured  border,  and  then  it  goes  off  with  a  crack 
which  makes  you  start,  and  the  turpentine  lights  up 
into  a  clear  flame.  The  leaves,  like  those  of  all  ever¬ 
greens,  make  a  beautiful  cracking  and  hopping,  as 
everyone  knows  who  likes  burning  the  Christmas  holly 
on  Candlemas-day.  I  believe  the  reason  is,  that  there 
are  little  air-vessels  between  the  two  coats  of  the  ever- 


NEEDLE  TREES. 


03 


green  leaves,  and  the  sound  is  made  as  the  vessels  burst 
and  the  air  breaks  out.  How  pleasant  is  the  resinous 
smell  of  the  burning  fir  branch,  and  it  is  said  that  the 
smell  of  the  fresh  boughs  in  an  American  forest  is 
delightful. 

The  silver  fir  is  so  called  because  the  leaves  are 
white  on  the  under  side.  The  Scottish  pine  is  more 
branching  than  its  northern  brethren  -r  it  has  very  long 
leaves,  more  like  threads  than  needles,  and  growing 
two  and  two,  spreading  out  like  a  pair  of  compasses. 

And  what  shall  we  say  of  the  uses  of  pines  ?  Deal 
boards,  pitch,  rosin,  turpentine  ;  never  mind  all  that, 
we  don’t  want  such  great  things  in  a  chapter  on  flow¬ 
ers,  and  you  learnt  it  long  ago  in  your  school  reading- 
books,  or  in  Harry  and  Lucy  you  have  read  of  the 
slide  of  Alpnach. 

There  is  one  river  in  Norway  where  the  pine-trees 
are  thrown  in  at  the  source,  and  left  to  find  their  own 
way  to  Bergen,  with  a  direction  to  their  owners  on 
their  trunk,  (like  other  travellers,)  and  down  they  come 
with  the  stream,  tumbling  over  waterfalls,  whirling 
round  rocks,  scrambling  and  dashing  along  as  best 
they  can,  till  they  are  fairly  caught  at  Bergen,  and  be¬ 
stowed  in  their  master’s  timber-yard.  In  some  parts 
of  America  the  floors  are  strewn  with  a  carpet  of  young 
fresh  pine-shoots,  as  here  in  old  times  the  floors  were 
covered  with  fresh  rushes. 

The  greatest  and  most  noble  of  all  the  needle-trees  is 
the  glorious  Cedar  of  Lebanon,  the  tree  which  formed 
the  beams  of  Solomon’s  Temple.  It  is  not  tall,  but  a 
veiy  wide-spreading  magnificent  tree,  even  as  we  see  it 
here ;  and  in  its  native  home  no  one  can  look  at  the 
broad  old  trunks,  few  and  shattered  as  they  are,  with¬ 
out  reverence  for  them  as  for  something  sacred. 


94 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


The  larch  grows  almost  as  far  north  as  the  fir,  and 
like  it,  bears  cones  and  needles ;  but  it  is  deciduous, 
that  is,  it  lets  its  leaves  fall,  for  they  are  far  more  ten¬ 
der  than  those  of  its  companions,  and  have  no  double 
coat,  so  that  they  are  not  fit  to  stand  the  winter.  If 
you  wish  to  see  anything  beautiful,  go  in  the  spring 
and  look  at  the  young  larch  blossom,  the  exquisite 
little  crimson  catkin  of  scales,  fit  to  be  a  tree  in  a  fairy 
forest,  and  afterwards  at  the  soft  purple  conelet  before 
it  grows  to  the  hard,  green,  knobby,  scaly  thing  of 
autumn,  or  the  brown  one  you  may  pick  up  now. 

The  cypress  is  another  cone-bearer,  not  English,  but 
used  in  Italy  to  shade  and  ornament  churchyards  with 
its  dark  spires ;  and  in  gardens  you  may  sometimes  see 
a  beautiful  light-green  sort,  called  the  deciduous  cy¬ 
press,  because  it  becomes  bare  in  the  winter. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

CLASSES  OF  FLOWERS. — CLASS  I.  AND  II. 

Classes  of  flowers  !  What,  are  flowers  in  classes,  like 
school-children  ? 

Well,  Ave  have  good  authority  for  saying  that  good 

gentle  little  school-children  are 

“  Like  spring-flowers  in  their  best  array, 

All  silence  and  all  smiles.” 

And  the  same  authority  has  shown  us  that  there  is  a 
great  deal  to  admire  in  the  “order  wild”  of  the  vege¬ 
table  creation,  the  rule  and  regularity  which  prevails 
in  its  formation,  as,  indeed,  in  every  work  of  nature, 
or,  more  truly,  of  nature’s  God. 

Thus  there  is  a  sufficient  resemblance  between  dif¬ 
ferent  plants  to  enable  them  to  be  arranged  first  in 


CLASSES  OF  FLOWERS. 


95 


different  classes,  and  then  in  smaller  divisions  called 
families,  which  are  convenient,  as  they  enable  us  to  find 
out  the  names  of  new  flowers,  or  plants,  and  even  to 
guess  at  a  great  many  of  their  properties  from  their 
likeness  to  others  of  the  same  tribe.  I  think  now  of 
going  through  the  classes,  and  telling  you  of  such 
noted  flowers  as  we  may  have  missed  in  our  chapters 
on  the  flowers  of  each  month. 

The  first  eleven  classes  are  very  easy,  since  they  all 
depend  on  the  number  of  their  stamens ;  the  first  class 
including  all  that  have  one  stamen  ;  the  second,  two 
stamens;  the  third,  three  stamens,  and  so  on. 

As  to  the  first  class,  that  is  a  very  small  one  indeed, 
I  suppose  because  the  supply  of  the  pistil  with  pollen 
could  hardly  be  trusted  to  only  one  anther,  Jointed 
glasswort  is  one  of  these  one-stamened  blossoms,  which 
you  may  find  if  you  live  near  the  sea-shore.  It  is  an 
odd-looking  pale  green  stiff  branchy  thing,  with  tiny 
green  flowers,  which  you  can  hardly  find,  as  they  sit 
quite  close  to  the  stem,  and  scarcely  show  themselves, 
I  suppose  because  they  are  obliged  to  take  such  great 
care  of  their  single  anther.  As  to  its  name  of  glass- 
wort,  it  has  acquired  that  because  of  the  quantity  of 
potash  it  contains,  and  which,  combined  with  sand, 
forms  glass.  It  is  most  probable  that  it  wras  of  glass- 
wort  that  the  shipwrecked  Phoenician  sailors  made 
that  fire  on  the  sea-sliore  of  which  everyone  has  heard, 
and  to  which  we  owe  it  that  our  windows  can  admit 
light,  and  let  us  see  the  sky,  and  the  trees,  and  the 
passers-by,  without  at  the  same  time  letting  in  wind 
and  rain.  Yet  to  look  at  the  sand,  and  the  green 
glasswort,  and  then  at  the  transparent  crystal  window- 
pane,  does  it  not  seem  too  wonderful  to  be  true,  almost 
as  strange  a  transformation  as  Cinderella’s  rags  into 
the  glass  slipper? 


96 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Inland  people  may  find  a  first-class  plant,  if  they 
like  to  take  the  trouble  of  poking  into  a  muddy  stream 
of  running  water,  where,  waving  slowly  with  the 
motion  of  the  stream,  they  may  find  the  marestail, 
why  so  called  I  cannot  tell,  since  such  a  tail  would 
look  remarkably  droll  on  any  horse.  It  has  a  round, 
thick,  fleshy  stem,  as  all  water-plants  have,  a  root  with 
a  profusion  of  fibres,  which,  when  you  pull  it  up,  bring 
an  immense  mass  of  wood  and  slime  ;  and  leaves  which 
grow  in  whorls,  that  is  to  say,  in  circles  round  the  stem, 
at  intervals  of  about  an  inch.  They  are  long  and  nar¬ 
row  ;  and  as  to  the  flower,  it  is  almost  as  if  there  was 
none  at  all,  for  there  is  no  corolla,  and  veiy  little  calyx. 
The  blossoms,  which  come  out  in  May  and  June,  have 
no  stem,  and  are  wedged  in  at  the  foot  of  the  leaves  ; 
the  single  anther  is  red. 

Don’t  take  horsetail  for  marestail,  they  are  two  very 
different  things,  and  are  as  far  removed  from  each 
other  as  possible,  for  the  horsetail  lias  an  “  unseen 
blossom,”  and  belongs  to  the  last  of  the  classes,  while 
marestail,  though  very  possibly  its  blossom  may  be  un¬ 
seen  by  you,  is  in  all  the  dignity  of  the  very  few  num¬ 
ber  ones  of  England. 

The  number  twos  are  much  more  numerous  and 
much  prettier.  Most  of  them  are  very  regular,  and 
follow  the  same  rules.  One  pistil  with  two  divisions 
in  the  germ,  two  stamens,  a  corolla  of  one  petal,  but 
with  twice  two  divisions,  and  a  calyx,  with  twice  two 
teeth,  a  berry,  or  a  capsule,  with  two  seeds.  It  is  quite 
refreshing  to  get  back  once  more  to  flowers  with 
corollas,  flowers  which  seem  really  like  flowers,  though 
it  is  only  hearing  of  them,  not  seeing  them  as  yet. 
Ah !  but  we  do  see  the  promise  of  some  of  them,  and 
the  memorials  of  them  too.  Look  up  to  the  taller 


CLASSES  OF  FLOWERS. 


97 


shrubs,  and  see  the  green  buds  swelling  in  the  rains  of 
February ;  look  at  those  brown  dry  clusters  of  old  seed- 
vessels,  consisting  each  of  two  hard  valves,  which  once 
enclosed  the  seed.  Those  pale  green  buds  at  the  end 
of  their  dry  branches  contain  the  promise  of  our  May 
garlands.  There  lie  folded  up  the  whole  “branch  of 
delicate  green  heart-shaped  leaves,  and  the  cluster, 
the  delicious  cluster,  of  lilac  blossoms,  so  thick,  so 
solid,  so  sweet,  so  full  of  perfume,  so  beautifully  and 
so  irregularly  shaped.  May  only  the  spring  be  warm 
enough  to  bring  them  out  by  the  1st  of  May.  Sweet 
lilac !  One  of  the  first  things  I  can  remember  was  the 
glory  of  being  carried  on  the  shoulder  of  a  kind  friend 
to  gather  the  nodding  heads  of  the  lilac  blossoms,  fresh 
and  dewy  with  the  spring  showers ;  and  there  is  one 
white  lilac  bush  which  I  never  look  at  without  a  feeling 
of  shame,  when  I  remember  the  sad  day  when  I  tore 
down  one  long  branch  in  trying  to  reach  the  flowers 
from  my  own  small  height ;  the  mark  is  still  to  be  seen 
on  the  bark,  though  it  happened  twenty  years  ago. 

The  lilac’s  native  home  is  in  Persia,  a  hilly  country, 
as  you  know,  and  therefore  in  parts  a  cold  one,  so  that 
it  is  very  hardy,  and  does  not  fear  our  winters.  It  is 
one  of  the  kind  plants  which  are  the  Londoner’s  friends, 
for  it  grows  without  being  very  much  stunted,  in  the 
midst  of  the  black  gardens. 

I  wonder  if  you  know  those  pretty  lines  about  the 
tenth  commandment,  which  say  that  as  the  daisy  is 
like  the  lowly  cottage  child,  so  the  lilac  blossom  nod¬ 
ding  on  its  high  tree,  is  like  the  high-born  child,  and 
how  both  alike  are  sweet  humble  flowers  in  themselves, 
doing  their  own  duty  where  their  Maker  has  placed 
them. 

The  leaf'  of  the  lilac  is  very  pretty,  and  will  serve 

7 


98 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


well  to  show  you  liow  most  leaves  are  formed.  Out 
of  the  sap-wood  of  the  tree,  within  the  bark,  springs  a 
foot-stalk,  a  bundle  of  small  fibres,  which,  after  grow¬ 
ing  some  way,  put  forth  on  each  side  a  number  of 
little  branches  or  veins,  which  again  send  out  lesser 
veins,  so  that  there  is  a  close  net-work,  forming  the 
frame  or  skeleton  of  the  leaf.  This  net-work  is  filled 
up  by  a  skin,  or,  properly  speaking,  by  two  skins  with 
little  vessels  between  them,  wondrously  arranged,  but 
so  as  you  cannot  see  them,  for  they  are  smaller  than  any 
thing  you  can  even  imagine.  And  the  use  of  leaves  ? 
Besides  shading  us,  and  some  kinds  being  good  to  eat, 
they  are  of  great  use  to  the  plants,  for  by  them  they 
breathe.  I  do  not  think  I  can  make  you  understand 
even  what  has  been  discovered  about  it ;  but  by  day 
they  draw  in  the  portion  of  the  air,  which  by  night 
they  breathe  out  again,  and  this  is  what  keeps  them 
alive,  with  the  sap  flowing  to  the  points  of  the  leaves 
through  all  the  net-work  of  veins. 

The  jessamine,  which  is  also  of  the  second  class, 
always  puts  me  in  mind,  more  especially  the  white 
one,  of  the  quiet  humble  grace  and  simplicity  that  is 
most  often  to  be  seen  in  the  most  nobly-born  maidens, 
and  which  make,  in  every  station,  a  lady’s  mind. 

Those  starry  pearly  flowers,  are  they  not  like  the 
pearl  of  great  price,  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit  ? 

The  throat  of  the  corolla  of  the  jessamine  is  remark¬ 
ably  long,  which  is  what  gives  it  its  peculiar  elegance ; 
the  buds  are  most  gracefully  folded,  and  the  leaves, 
which  consist  of  seven  leaflets,  are  particularly  ele¬ 
gantly  formed.  The  fruit  is  a  berry,  but  the  cold  of 
England  prevents  it  from  ripening  here,  for  the  native 
country  of  the  white  kind  is  India ;  of  the  yellow, 


CLASSES  OF  FLOWERS. 


99 


Madeira.  The  small  yellow  kind  is  hardier,  as  it 
comes  from  Circassia,  and  there  have  been  “jasmine 
bowers”  in  England,  at  least  ever  since  the  time  of 
Queen  Elizabeth. 

The  olive,  that  sacred  plant,  which  furnished  the 
holy  oil  for  anointing,  is  another  of  these  plants  with 
two  stamens.  It  has  a  white  blossom,  and  a  large 
black  berry,  full  of  sweet  oil,  which  is  used  for  food 
all  through  the  south  of  Europe  and  western  Asia. 
The  leaf  is  of  a  curious  pale  bluish  green,  and  the 
trunk  grows  to  a  great  size,  and  lives  to  a  considerable 
age.  Pilgrims  to  Jerusalem  tell  us  how  they  have 
knelt  with  fear  and  reverence  among  the  aged  trees  of 
the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  sprung  from  those  which 
shaded  our  blessed  Lord  in  His  agony. 

And  do  you  remember  that  the  oil  of  olive  is  a 
token  of  the  grace  of  the  Holy  Spirit  shown  in  love  ? 
And  that  the  Psalmist  says  of  the  righteous  man,  that 
“  his  children  are  like  the  olive  branches  round  about 
his  table.”  Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  that  Olive  and 
Oliver  are  Christian  names  ;  at  any  rate  I  am  sure 
those  children  are  more  like  olive-branches  who  sit  in 
love  and  kindness  round  their  father’s  table,  than  those 
who  grieve  him  by  strife  and  bitterness. 

Ever  since  Noah’s  dove  brought  back  the  olive-leaf, 
it  has  been  an  emblem  of  peace  and  joy,  even  among 
heathen  nations.  The  Athenians  had  a  fable,  that  two 
of  their  deities,  Neptune  and  Minerva,  disputed  which 
should  be  sovereign  of  their  city,  and  it  was  resolved 
that  it  should  be  that  one  who  could  give  the  richest 
present  to  the  new  town.  Neptune  gave  a  horse, 
Minerva  an  olive,  and  that  precious  tree  was  adjudged 
to  be  so  much  the  best  gift,  that  Minerva  became  the 
great  goddess  of  Athens,  which  was  called  after  her 


100 


THE  nERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Greek  name  of  Athene.  There  was  a  tree  in  the 
Acropolis  which  they  fancied  was  the  very  one  she  had 
produced  ;  it  was  burnt  and  cut  down  when  Xerxes 
took  the  town,  but  they  thought  it  a  promise  of  their 
renewed  prosperity  when  a  fresh  branch  shot  out  from 
the  root. 

Sometimes  when  a  nation  intended  to  offer  peace 
or  war  to  another  people,  they  gave  them  their  choice 
between  a  sword  or  an  olive  branch  ;  and  this  gave  rise 
to  the  saying,  that  when  a  person  wishes  to  be  recon¬ 
ciled  to  his  enemy,  he  holds  out  the  olive  branch. 

The  privet,  with  its  white  blossoms  and  black 
berries,  is  of  this  class,  as  you  will  find  by  ex¬ 
amining  it. 

So  is  also  the  sweet-scented  verbena,  with  those 
most  fragrant  of  all  leaves,  which  are  sometimes  called 
lemon.  It  conies  from  Buenos  Ayres,  and  its  splendid 
brethren,  the  creeping  verbenas,  purple,  crimson,  or 
dazzling  scarlet,  are,  I  believe,  Mexican,  and  form  the 
pride  of  gardens  in  early  autumn.  But  the  most 
curious  history  of  all  belongs  to  the  little  plain  Eng¬ 
lish  verbena,  a  plant  with  insignificant  whitish  lilac 
flowers,  that  is  generally  to  be  found  in  hedges  by 
turnpike  roads,  in  July  or  August,  coated  all  over  with 
dust.  Vervain,  as  it  is  called  in  English,  played  in 
ancient  British  days  a  most  important  part ;  indeed, 
the  Druidesses  made  as  great  a  fuss  with  it  as  the 
Druids  did  with  the  mistletoe.  The  strangest  thing 
was,  that  they  were  never  to  touch  it.  It  was  to  be 
gathered  at  midnight,  at  the  full  of  the  moon,  in  this 
manner :  a  long  string  with  a  loop  in  it  was  thrown 
over  the  vervain,  and  the  other  end  fastened  to  the 
left  great  toe  of  a  young  virgin,  who  was  then  to  drag 
at  it  till  she  had  uprooted  it.  The  eldest  Druidess 


CLASSES  OF  FLOWERS. 


101 


then  received  it  in  a  cloth,  and  carried  it  home,  to 
use  it  for  medicinal  purposes  and  offerings  to  their 
gods. 

After  Druidism  had  long  been  forgotten,  vervain 
was  still  considered  as  full  of  healing  virtues,  and  it 
always  stood  first  among  the  herbs  used  by  the  old 
women  who  used  to  be  the  only  doctors. 

The  verbenas  have  a  four-cleft  corolla,  and  some¬ 
times  two,  sometimes  four  stamens,  so  that  botanists 
have  not  been  well  decided  whether  to  arrange  them 
in  class  two,  or  class  fourteen,  which  consists  of  the 
labiate  flowers.  Sage,  with  its  two  branching  stamens, 
is  in  the  same  doubt,  and  so  is  the  little  marsh-butter- 
wort,  a  beautiful  summer  flower,  with  a  deep-blue  blos¬ 
som,  growing  on  a  single  stem,  two  stamens,  a  long 
spur  behind,  and  very  light-green  leaves  lying  close  to 
the  ground. 

The  gipsy-wort,  with  leaves  like  a  nettle,  and  whorls 
of  white  flowers,  growing  in  wet  woods ;  and  the  en¬ 
chanter’s  night-shade,  a  beautiful  little  delicate  plant 
with  heart-shaped  leaves,  a  stem  red  at  the  tip,  and 
white  flowers,  are  both  of  this  class.  I  wish  I  knew 
why  the  last  is  called  by  that  weird-like  name. 

The  ash-tree  is  of  class  two,  and  so  is  the  whole 
pretty  tribe  of  veronica,  tiny  plants,  with  a  corolla 
always  four-cleft,  with  two  divisions  equal,  and  of  the 
other  two,  one  much  larger  than  the  other.  Their 
English  name  is  speedwell,  and  a  very  pretty  name  it 
is,  for  such  bright  cheerful  wayside  flowers  as  they  are, 
peeping  out  with  their  blue  eyes  under  the  dusty 
hedge  to  smile  on  the  tired  traveller,  and  give  him  a 
cheerful  greeting  to  speed  him  well  on  his  way.  The 
largest  English  kind,  the  germander  speedwell,  is  of 
the  most  lovely  azure  that  I  know  in  any  flower.  The 


102 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


common  speedwell,  with  a  small  pale  flower,  is  a  very 
troublesome  weed  in  gardens ;  the  water-speedwell,  or 
brooklime,  with  a  flat  fleshy  stem,  has  a  very  pretty 
blue  flower,  and  is  no  doubt  known  to  water-cress 
gatherers.  The  leaves  of  all,  except  the  two  water 
kinds,  are  cut  like  the  edge  of  a  saw,  and  covered  with 
small  white  hairs.  The  capsule,  or  seed-vessel,  is  very 
prettily  shaped,  just  like  a  heart,  with  a  rib  in  the 
middle,  dividing  it  into  two  halves.  There  are  a  great 
many  English  sorts,  and  many  more  foreign  ones, 
some  of  which  are  cultivated  in  gardens.  The  Latin 
name,  veronica,  means  true  image.  I  do  not  know 
why  it  was  given  to  this  little  flower,  but  I  like  to 
think  that  it  was  thus  intended  to  put  us  in  mind  that 
the  true  image  of  the  greatness  and  goodness  of  God 
may  be  seen  reflected  in  the  marvellous  structure  of 
even  so  lowly  a  work  as  a  little  blue  speedwell. 

And  lastly,  one  word  of  the  funny  duckweed,  a 
green  veil  over  the  black  water  of  the  pond,  with  no 
roots  at  all,  only  one  little  fibre  hanging  down  below 
the  leaf,  to  drink  the  water ;  and  as  for  flower  it  has 
none,  but  it  keeps  its  two  stamens  and  one  pistil  in  its 
pocket. 

Yes,  really  in  a  little  pocket  on  one  side  of  the  leaf, 
where,  if  you  look  very  sharp,  you  may  just  see  the 
two  tiny  anthers  peeping  out,  as  the  eyes  of  the  young 
kangaroos  do  out  of  their  mother’s  pouch.  Now  look 
over  all  class  two,  and  try  to  make  acquaintance  with 
them  all  this  summer. 


SPEARS  AND  FLAGS. 


103 


CHAPTER  XTY. 

CLASS  III. — SPEARS  AND  FLAGS. 

Class  the  third  includes  a  large  and  beautiful  army, 
each  hearing  aloft  a  tall  sharp  spear,  and  often  a  most 
exquisite  crest  or  plume,  and  a  long  narrow  tapering 
streamer,  like  the  pennoncel  of  a  knight  at  a  tourna¬ 
ment.  These  fairy  lances  spread  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  every  country  ;  there  is  nothing  so  fre¬ 
quent  as,  and  nothing  more  pleasant  to  the  eye  than, 
a  whole  array  of  them  in  a  fair  field,  waving  their 
crests  and  streamers,  and  covering  the  ground  so 
closely  that  scarce  any  colour  is  visible,  except  their 
own  fresh  green  fairy  uniform.  They  are  of  all  sizes  ; 
some  tiny  and  bending  to  the  tread ;  some,  and  chiefly 
the  bands  which  guard  the  river’s  brink,  tall,  firm,  and 
solid ;  and  these,  the  frontier  troops,  have  among  them 
swordsmen  bearing  beauteous  standards,  more  lovely 
and  richer  in  tint  than  ever  was  banner  of  silk,  woven 
and  embroidered  by  the  hands  of  a  fair  lady,  to  lead  an 
army  in  a  glorious  cause. 

When  France  was  true  and  loyal,  and  her  sovereign 
gloried  in  the  title  of  “  Most  Christian  King,”  her 
banner  was  the  same  at  that  of  these  green  hosts ;  and 
St.  Louis  led  his  crusade  beneath  the  waving  fleur-de- 
lys,  and  wore  it  marked  on  his  robe  and  on  his  shield, 
seeing  in  its  threefold  formation  an  emblem  of  the 
highest  mystery  of  the  Christian  faith. 

I  cannot  say  that  it  was  well  represented  in  those 
days ;  and  the  thing  with  three  points  carved  in  stone, 
or  represented  in  gold  on  a  blue  ground,  which  we  call 


104 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


the  “  fleur-de-lys,”  though  graceful  and  beautiful  in 
form,  and  recalling  many  a  bright  memory  of  old  faith 
and  loyalty,  is  a  very  poor  likeness  of  the  lovely  iris, 
or  Hag-flower,  so  poor,  indeed,  that  we  could  hardly 
guess  it  was  intended  for  the  same. 

The  very  name  of  fleur-de-lys  is  a  mistake,  as 
modern  botanists  have  settled  it,  for  it  means  lily- 
flower  ;  and  the  iris  in  no  respect  resembles  the  lily, 
which  we  shall  find  in  the  sixth  class  instead  of  the 
third. 

Iris,  the  botanical  name  of  the  flag,  or  fleur-de-lys, 
means  the  eye  of  heaven,  and  was  given  by  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  to  the  rainbow,  which  they  thought  the 
path  of  the  beautiful  messenger  of  the  gods.  They 
were  not  so  far  wrong  in  this  :  or  perhaps  they  had 
some  dim  tradition  that  the  lovely  bow  in  the  cloud  is 
really  a  messenger  of  mercy  to  us  from  heaven. 

The  name  was  given  to  the  flower  from  its  varied 
tints,  blending  into  each  other  as  the  colours  do  in  the 
rainbow.  Purple,  blue,  and  yellow,  of  all  shades,  are 
to  be  found  in  these  noble  flowers,  and  of  such  depth 
and  richness,  that  no  colouring  equals  them. 

We  have  two  English  kinds  of  iris;  the  yellow  one, 
which  grows  by  the  river  side,  and  which  perhaps  you 
know  by  the  name  of  the  yellow  flag ;  and  the 
stinking  flag,  a  delicate  purple  one,  with  a  very  dis¬ 
agreeable  smell,  which  grows  in  hedges,  and  ornaments 
them  in  autumn  with  its  splendid  scarlet  fruit.  The 
great  deep- purple  iris,  in  gardens,  comes  from  Syria; 
the  little  red-purple  one  from  Persia.  It  was  intro¬ 
duced  by  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  who  was  very  fond 
of  flowers ;  and  the  blue  and  yellow  sort,  with  the  very 
narrow  leaves,  which  we  commonly  call  the  fleur-de-lys, 
is  from  Hungary. 


SPEARS  AND  FLAGS. 


105 


When  the  irises  come  into  blossom,  you  will  see 
their  stem  coming  curiously  out  from  an  opening  in  the 
edge  of  their  broad,  and,  for  the  most  part,  sword- 
shaped  leaves,  and  bearing  a  thick  sheath  packed  up 
in  the  same  hard  straight  leaves,  containing  one  or  two 
buds,  which,  like  those  of  the  daffodil,  are  enclosed  in  a 
thin  transparent  skin,  like  silver  paper,  which  peels  off* 
as  the  blossom  unfolds.  I  dare  say  you  would  be 
puzzled  at  the  appearance  of  the  flower  ;  it  stands  very 
upright,  on  a  green  fleshy  stem,  and  seems  to  consist  of 
nothing  but  nine  petals,  in  threes  ;  three  broad  beautiful 
ones,  turning  over  and  hanging  down,  with  an  exquisite 
pattern  in  blue  or  yellow,  or  shades  of  both,  wonder¬ 
fully  blended  together ;  three  little  plain  ones,  between 
these  larger  ones,  standing  up,  rather  pertly ;  and  three 
more  middle  sized,  of  a  lighter  colour,  and  with  a  ridge 
down  the  middle,  shutting  down  like  a  lid  on  the  inner 
side  of  the  large  ones.  Where  are  all  the  stamens  and 
pistils?  We  must  make  a  few  researches.  Suppose 
we  see  what  is  so  carefully  nursed  under  that  lid. 
Take  hold  of  it  gently  by  that  pretty  jagged  fringed 
edge  which  makes  a  canopy  over  its  door-way,  lift  it 
up,  and  peep  under  it.  How  beautiful !  It  is  like 
looking  into  a  little  house,  and  such  a  house  as  it  is, 
with  such  marblings  and  paintings  of  streaks  of  black, 
or  deep  blue,  or  rich  yellow  !  And  all  along  the  middle 
of  the  great  outer  petal,  it  is  a  wonderful  crest,  or 
rather  mane,  of  beautiful  little  soft  thick  hairs,  forming 
a  downy  bed,  exactly  fitting  the  shape  of  the  long,  nar¬ 
row,  stiff  inhabitant  of  this  lovely  little  dwelling.  I 
dare  say  you  have  recognized  this  beautifully  lodged 
gentleman  to  be  a  stamen,  with  a  very  long  anther,  and 
his  two  brothers  live  in  the  other  two  dwelling-places 
near  at  hand.  It  is  very  curious  that  they  should  thus 


106 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


lodge  apart,  instead  of  being  sociably  together  like  the 
stamens  of  every  other  flower  I  know.  Now,  where  is 
the  pistil  ?  Is  it  not  to  be  found  ?  Look  beneath  the 
flower,  at  the  stem.  This  swelling  part,  regularly 
divided  into  three  ridges,  is  the  germ  ;  the  slender  part 
on  which  the  corolla  rests,  is  the  style ;  and  the  stig¬ 
ma —  Why !  the  stigma  is  what  we  have  been  calling  the 
middle-sized  petals,  the  lids  of  the  little  box  containing 
the  stamens.  Certainly  the  iris  is  as  wonderful  a 
flower  as  it  is  beautiful.  It  is  all,  as  you  see,  in  threes  ; 
three  large  petals,  three  small,  three  stamens,  three  di¬ 
visions  of  the  stigma,  three  of  the  germ,  and  there  will 
be  three  seed-vessels,  and  three  seeds  in  each  vessel. 
Last  summer,  I  found  the  iris  stamen-houses  turned  to 
a  purpose  I  did  not  expect.  They  were  the  very  larder 
whither  the  spider  invited  the  fly.  In  a  large  white 
iris,  a  green  vagabond  spider,  of  the  size  and  colour  of  a 
green  pea,  had  his  dwelling.  There,  for  a  full  week,  we 
watched  him,  lying  in  wait  in  the  middle  of  the  flower, 
and  storing  his  victims  in  its  divisions.  There  were 
slain  and  devoured  in  one  week,  a  dumbledore,  two 
bees,  and  flies  beyond  reckoning,  first  caught,  then  kept 
awhile  in  the  yellow  and  white  larder,  their  juices 
sucked,  and  at  last  thrown  down  to  make  way  for  a 
fresh  prisoner.  The  flower  faded  in  time,  and  the 
spider  disappeared,  having  taught  us  a  new  use  for  the 
iris  blossom. 

The  roots  of  some  irises  are  bulbous,  others  are 
creeping,  especially  those  that  grow  near  the  water. 
One  kind,  called  orris  root,  is  used  for  a  perfume.  The 
gladiolus,  little  sword,  or  corn-flag,  is  in  some  points 
like  the  iris ;  it  is  a  most  beautiful  flower,  but  only  one 
sort  is  very  common  in  gardens  here  ;  this  is  the  pink 
kind,  which  ornaments  the  corn-fields  of  Italy. 


SPEARS  AND  FLAGS. 


107 


Having  done  with  the  flags,  let  us  begin  upon  the 
armies  marshalled  beneath  them — I  mean  those  pre¬ 
cious  gifts,  the  grasses,  perhaps  the  most  valuable  of  the 
whole  of  the  vegetable  creation,  the  food  of  man  and 
beast.  You  are  surprised  now,  for  you  never  thought 
of  eating  grass ;  you  never  heard  of  any  one  who  did, 
excepting  Nebuchadnezzar,  in  the  time  of  his  punish¬ 
ment.  But  what  shall  you  think  when  I  tell  you,  that 
without  grasses  you  would  have  neither  bread,  beer, 
gruel,  porridge,  rice,  nor  sugar,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
mutton  and  beef,  the  milk,  butter,  and  cheese,  which 
are  supplied  to  us  by  animals  which  live  on  grasses  ? 

X  will  give  you  a  description  which  applies  to  every 
kind  of  grass.  The  root  is  creeping,  the  stem  smooth, 
round,  hollow,  and  jointed,  the  lower  part  consisting  of 
leaves,  long,  narrow,  undivided  leaves,  rolled  up,  and 
sheathed  one  over  the  other.  At  each  joint  one  of 
these  leaves  ceases  to  embrace  the  others,  and  hangs 
down,  tapering  off  to  a  point,  while  the  one  next  above 
it  becomes  the  outside  covering,  and  so  continues  till 
the  next  joint,  where  it,  too,  opens  and  hangs  down  on 
the  opposite  side  to  the  former  one.  Each  joint  con¬ 
tains  a  certain  quantity  of  sweet  sugary  juice.  The 
stem,  properly  so  called,  springs  from  within  the  last 
leaf,  and  supports  the  blossom,  which  grows  in  a  head, 
tuft,  or  spike,  containing  a  number  of  small  flowers. 
Each  flower  has  of  its  own,  two  scales,  by  way  of  co¬ 
rolla  and  calyx,  one  over  the  other,  and  the  outer  one 
ending  in  a  sharp  point  or  bristle ;  and  these,  by  the 
assistance  of  the  scales  of  the  next  flower,  enclose  a 
soft,  pulpy,  sweet  germ,  bearing  two  tiny  styles,  and 
three  stamens,  with  very  long  weak  filaments,  which 
hang  their  anthers  out  far  beyond  the  flower. 

If  you  think  about  it,  you  will  see  then  that  wheat 


108 


THE  HERB  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


is  really  a  large  kind  of  grass.  The  spike  of  blossom, 
is  the  ear,  and  in  July  you  may  see  the  anthers  hang¬ 
ing  out,  and  a  beautiful  shape  they  are — much  prettier 
than  any  other  anthers  I  know.  Though  there  is  much 
to  say,  and  little  space  to  say  it  in,  it  would  be  un¬ 
thankful  not  to  dwell  for  a  little  while  on  the  beauty 
and  precious  thoughts  belonging  “  to  seed-time  and  to 
harvest-tide.” 

The  seed  is  cast  forth  for  the  soil  to  foster,  even  as 
our  hearts  are  bidden  to  foster  that  more  precious  seed ; 
and  then,  if  it  falls  into  good  ground,  it  puts  forth  its 
green  blades,  that  seem  at  first  to  be  like  a  thin  veil  over 
the  dark-brown  earth,  which  then  thicken  and  spread  in 
their  well-ordered  rows,  till  the  whole  field  bears  that 
loveliest  of  all  hues,  the  green  of  young  wheat  in  spring. 
Taller  and  taller  grow  the  spikes,  sheath  and  pennon 
rise,  joint  above  joint,  till  thick  and  high  they  stand; 
so  high,  that  a  little  child’s  head  is  quite  lost  between 
the  ranks  on  either  side  the  field  path,  and  it  feels  for 
a  moment  as  if  it  was  lost  in  a  dense  forest,  and  trots 
along  in  a  fright  to  overtake  its  mother.  The  upper¬ 
most  sheath  swells  and  opens  a  long  slit,  within  which 
is  the  tender  green  ear,  shooting  out  daily  higher  and 
higher  on  the  slender  green  stalk,  and  in  time  harden¬ 
ing  its  chaffy  scales,  and  putting  forth  its  anthers. 
This  is  the  time  of  dread  lest  a  hail-storm  should  break 
or  bend  the  straw,  and  send  the  whole  crop  flat,  so  that 
it  cannot  blossom  or  ripen  equally,  and  may  be  tied 
down  by  bind- weed.  It  is  the  time  when  we  most  feel 
that  man  may  do  his  utmost,  but  God  alone  can  give 
the  increase. 

But  now  the  anthers  have  shed  their  pollen  and 
fallen,  their  duty  being  done ;  the  sweet  pulpy  germ  is 
hardening,  and  turning  to  “  the  full  corn  in  the  ear,” 


SPEARS  AND  FLAGS. 


109 


and  over  straw,  and  blade,  and  ear,  a  pale  rich  golden 
tint  is  gradually  descending ;  the  hill  sides  and  valleys 
far  away  stand  so  thick  with  corn  that  they  laugh  and 
sing ;  the  fields  are  truly  white  to  the  harvest,  and  the 
sunny  waves  of  wind  pass  over  them,  as  they  bend 
softly  and  rise  again. 

Now  comes  the  harvest,  to  which  all  the  village, 
small  and  great,  have  been  looking  forward  so  long. 
Out  they  all  turn,  father  and  mother,  great  sons  and 
daughters,  to  reap,  and  little  ones  to  look  after  lesser ; 
long  paths  and  gaps  open  before  them,  and  the  beauti¬ 
ful  clusters  of  sheaves  appear  on  the  stubble :  the  merry 
cry  rings  out  when  the  last  field  is  reaped — 

“We  have  ploughed,  we  have  sowed, 

We  have  reaped,  we  have  mowed.” 

And  then  some  wild  cheery  shout  to  finish  with. 
And  then  the  carting,  the  loading,  the  wagons  with  the 
noble  brown  stacks  heaped  high — higher ;  the  round 
mow,  built  up,  and  the  builder  rising  higher  in  the  air 
with  every  round  of  sheaves  ;  and  the  last  wagon  with 
the  horses  with  green  boughs,  coming  late  home, 
perhaps  by  the  light  of  the  round  harvest  moon  : 

“  Our  work  is  over,  over  now, 

The  good  man  wipes  his  weary  brow ; 

The  last  long  wain  wends  slow  away, 

And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

The  night  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun, 

And  labour  ends  when  day  is  done. 

When  summer  ends,  and  autumn’s  come, 

We  hold  our  jovial  harvest  home.” 

And  last  of  all  the  gleaning,  or,  as  the  gleaners  gene¬ 
rally  call  it,  the  leasing. 

Beautiful  things  in  themselves,  beautiful  in  the 
thoughts  they  bring  with  them — the  good  seed — the 
seed  sown  in  grief,  which  shall  be  brought  again  with 


110 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


joy — the  good  man  in  his  old  age  going  down  to  his 
grave  in  peace,  like  a  shock  of  corn  in  full  season — 
and  lastly,  the  great  harvest  day,  when  the  cry  shall 
be,  “  Put  ye  in  the  sickle  to  the  corn,”  and  the  reapers 
shall  be  the  angels. 

In  the  Holy  Land,  the  harvest  is  much  earlier  than 
here ;  it  comes  about  Easter,  and  this  explains  how  it 
is  that  the  feast  of  weeks,  at  Whitsuntide,  should  have 
been  the  festival  of  thanksgiving  for  the  harvest.  How 
beautiful  the  offering  of  the  first-fruits  was,  when  the 
Israelite  brought  his  sheaf  for  the  priest  to  wave  before 
the  Lord,  acknowledging  the  mercy,  by  saying,  “  A 
Syrian  ready  to  perish  was  my  father,  and  he  went 
down  into  Egypt  and  became  a  great  nation  !” 

Did  you  ever  see  Egyptian  wheat?  I  have  some 
which  sprung  from  seeds  found  within  the  case  of  a 
mummy,  which  must  have  been  embalmed  at  least 
three  thousand  years  ago.  The  form  of  it  would  make 
you  understand  the  seven  ears  on  one  stalk  in  Pharaoh’s 
dream,  for  each  ear  is  very  wide,  and  spreads  out  into 
seven,  nine,  or  eleven  little  points  on  each  side,  so  as  to 
be  so  many  ears  in  one. 

Next  to  wheat  comes  barley,  John  Barleycorn,  “  his 
head  well  armed  with  pointed  spears,”  which  look 
beautiful  and  silvery  in  the  summer  sunshine,  as  the 
wind  weaves  gently  over  the  field.  The  spears  are  pro¬ 
longations  of  the  awn  or  bristle,  wdiich  all  grasses  bear 
at  the  point  of  their  calyx.  It  is  sad  to  think  that  bar¬ 
ley,  that  good  gift  of  heaven,  should  sometimes  be  turned 
to  such  an  evil  use  by  men’s  self-indulgence. 

Oats  bear  their  blossoms,  not  in  ears,  but  in  loose, 
graceful  waving  heads,  the  florets  in  pairs.  Rye  grows 
in  cold,  poor  lands,  unfit  for  wheat.  These  four  are 
sometimes  called  Cerealia,  after  Ceres,  whom  the  hea- 


SFEARS  AND  FLAGS. 


Ill 


thens  used  to  worship  as  the  goddess  of  wheat.  Bice 
is  a  kind  of  grass,  which  grows  in  the  very  hottest  and 
wettest  places  it  can  find,  chiefly  in  India  and  Carolina. 
It  is  sown  under  water,  and  trodden  into  the  earth  by 
asses  or  oxen.  The  blossom  is  a  good  deal  like  oats. 
It  is  the  chief  food  of  the  natives  of  India,  who  can  live 
upon  such  a  small  quantity,  that  the  people  of  colder 
climates  would  soon  starve  on  it. 

These  are  the  grasses  whose  grains  are  used  by  man 
for  food.  Then  follow  the  multitudes,  the  leaves  of 
which  are  eaten  by  animals.  I  am  afraid  it  would  be 
in  vain  to  begin  describing  them,  there  are  so  many ; 
but  if  you  will  only  pay  a  little  attention  to  them,  you 
will  see  how  endless  is  their  beauty  and  variety.  There 
is  the  quiver,  or  quaking  grass,  with  its  delicate  purple- 
brown  pendant  tufts  shaking  in  the  wind,  on  their 
slightest  of  all  stems  ;  the  tall  oat-grass  in  the  woods ; 
the  long  ray  grass,  with  which  little  girls  sometimes 
practice  a  very  silly  kind  of  fortune-telling,  which  they 
had  better  leave  oil'  as  soon  as  possible  ;  the  brome  grass, 
with  tufted  scaly  heads,  in  the  upland  hayfields  ;  the 
cotton  grass  in  bogs,  with  one  stiff  straight  stem,  and 
large  tufts  of  silky  cotton  enveloping  the  seed,  waving 
white,  and  shining  in  the  marsh.  It  is  said  that  it  is 
used  in  Sweden  to  stuff  pillows.  I  have  seen  a  chimney- 
piece  ornamented  very  prettily  with  a  collection  of 
different  kinds  of  grasses,  tufts,  feathers,  plumes,  ears, 
and  spikes,  an  infinite  variety,  all  brown  and  dry,  but 
preserving  their  form  and  beauty. 

The  hay-field — I  could  stop  there  as  long  as  in  the 
harvest-field ;  the  sweet  grass,  the  long  ridges,  the 
cocks,  the  busy  sunny  hay-makers,  the  horses  munching 
away  so  happily,  while  the  wagon  is  piled,  the  hay 
home — that  is  a  time  of  times,  indeed ! 


112 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


But  we  must  make  haste,  for  this  has  been  a  long 
chapter,  and  speak  of  the  great  grass  which  is  valued 
for  its  juice.  The  sugar  cane  is  a  grass  of  twenty  feet 
high,  and  the  sugar  is  made  from  the  juice  at  its  joints. 
It  is  just  as  good  sugar  that  you  may  suck  out  of  the 
joints  of  almost  any  kind  of  English  grass,  only  there  is 
not  so  much  of  it.  The  bamboo,  or  cane,  is  another 
grass,  witli  a  much  harder  stem,  sometimes  fifty  feet 
high,  and  proportionately  thick,  the  leaves  of  huge  size, 
and  the  whole  plant  of  infinite  use  to  the  natives  of 
tropical  countries. 

It  is  only  in  the  tropics  that  grasses  grow  to  such 
a  size.  In  Brazil,  the  hay  is  seven  or  eight  feet  high, 
and  the  huge  reeds  and  canes  are  as  great  forests  to 
men,  as  our  wheat  fields  are  to  babies  ;  but  grasses, 
small  or  large,  are  to  be  found  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
excepting  in  the  extremes  of  cold  and  of  drought.  The 
species  in  the  southern  temperate  zone  are  much  fewer 
than  those  in  the  northern,  and  very  unlike  them.  The 
most  noted  of  these  far  southern  grasses,  is  the  tussock 
grass,  which  almost  entirely  covers  Terra-del-Fuego, 
and  the  Falkland  Isles,  and  is  said  to  be  like  little  palm 
trees  about  four  feet  high. 

Of  all  the  lands  where  grass  grows,  there  is,  how¬ 
ever,  not  one  where  it  prospers  so  well,  or  is  so  fresh 
and  green,  as  in  England.  Our  climate  is  just  moist 
enough  for  it ;  our  sun  fosters  it,  and  makes  it  sweet 
and  strong ;  and  the  dew  and  rain  so  freshen  it,  that  it 
is  seldom  withered  and  dried  up,  like  that  “  whereof 
the  mower  filleth  not  his  hand,  nor  he  that  bindeth  up 
the  sheaves  his  bosom.”  And  thus  England  is  said  by  all 
who  have  seen  her,  to  be  the  greenest  of  all  lands.  May 
the  souls  of  her  children  only  prosper  equally  in  the 
dew  of  heavenly  grace,  since  well  do  they  know  that  of 


FLOCKS  OF  FLOWERS. 


113 


their  earthly  part  it  has  been  said,  “  All  flesh  is  grass, 
and  all  the  goodliness  thereof  as  a  flower  of  the  field.” 
“  The  grass  withereth,  the  flower  fadetli,  because  the 
Spirit  of  the  Lord  bloweth  upon  it.  Surely  the  people 
is  grass.” 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CLASS  IV. — FLOCKS  OF  FLOWERS. 

Proceeding  regularly,  according  to  the  classes,  A\re 
next  come  to  some  which  might  be  taken  for  com¬ 
pound  flowers,  if  we  did  not  know  that  these  have  five 
stamens  united  at  the  anthers,  and  none  which  do  not 
fulfil  this  condition  can  be  reckoned  in  that  class,  which 
is  the  nineteenth. 

The  fourth  class  consists  for  the  most  part  of  aggre¬ 
gate  flowers,  so  called  from  the  Latin  word  ij rex ,  a 
flock,  because  they  are  all  gathered  and  sheltered 
within  the  same  calyx,  like  a  flock  of  sheep  within 
the  same  fold. 

You  may  best  make  acquaintance  \\Tith  these  little 
flocks  in  the  scabious — which  haunts  the  upland  pas¬ 
tures,  hedgeroAvs,  and  heathy  Avoods.  There  are  thirty- 
four  species  of  scabious,  but  only  three  which  come 
much  in  our  way — tAvo  in  the  heaths  and  Avoods,  and 
one  in  the  garden. 

The  larger  English  scabious  is  a  tall  straggling  plant, 
growing  in  ill-kept  hedges,  wild  rough  ground,  and 
barren  pastures.  The  leaves  are  of  a  pale  colour, 
covered  Avith  short  rough  hairs,  and  variously  cut, 
more  or  less  deeply,  and  the  stems  are  long  and  irregu¬ 
larly  branched,  the  blossoms  are  of  a  pale,  cloudy  blue, 

8 


114 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


almost  grey;  the  calyx  consists  of  a  number  of  long 
narrow  leaflets  lapping  one  over  the  other,  but  each 
flower  within  has  its  own  proper  calyx,  consisting  of 
little  hard  sharp  chaffy  points  growing  out  of  the  germ. 
The  germs  are  hard  four-sided  wedges,  the  points  of 
which  are  all  packed  together  beneath,  while  the  upper 
spreading  parts  bear  the  four  stamens.  The  anthers 
are  the  prettiest  part  of  the  flower,  being  of  a  bright 
blue,  a  very  uncommon  colour  in  anthers,  which,  as 
you  may  have  observed,  are  almost  always  of  some 
shade  of  yellow.  The  corolla  is  of  one  petal,  irregu¬ 
larly  cut,  and  sometimes  in  four,  sometimes  in  five 
divisions.  The  outermost  of  the  flowers  seem  to  make 
it  their  business  to  guard  the  rest,  and  therefore  wear 
much  larger  corollas,  so  that  the  whole  head  of  flowers 
sometimes  has  the  appearance  of  one  of  those  pretty 
round,  garlanded,  shepherdess-hats  that  one  sees  in  old 
picture-books  ;  but  in  general  it  is  an  awkward,  untidy, 
irregular-looking  plant,  not  nearly  so  pretty  as  the 
other  English  kind,  the  meadow  scabious. 

This  is  much  smaller,  and  when  its  flock  are  all 
lambs,  it  is  uncommonly  pretty,  the  little  buds  being 
all  hard  and  round,  and  sitting  so  close  together  that 
they  give  the  notion  of  being  well  packed  and  com¬ 
fortable.  It  is  very  pretty  when  in  full  blossom  too, 
with  its  dark  blue  corollas,  all  alike,  and  all  regular 
and  well  cut,  and  seen  through  a  whole  forest  of  pretty 
anthers,  sometimes  blue,  sometimes  pink,  and  of  the 
white  pin-like  stigmas. 

The  garden  kind  is  the  handsomest  of  all,  but  it  re¬ 
quires  to  be  well  tied  up  and  trimmed,  for  it  is  a 
straggling,  unruly,  scrambling  plant.  The  flowers  are 
of  the  richest  deep  dark  red  purple,  the  larger  ones 
forming  an  ornamental  trimming  round  the  border, 


FLOCKS  OF  FLOWERS. 


115 


and  the  inner  ones  being  almost  black,  which,  with 
their  white  stigmas,  has  caused  them  to  be  called,  in 
cottage  gardens,  by  the  name  of  widows.  I  have 
sometimes  wondered  that  little  girls,  who  are  ingenious 
with  their  needles,  do  not  try  to  make  velvet  pin¬ 
cushions  in  imitation  of  these  flowers,  with  pins  for 
the  stigmas,  though,  to  be  sure,  they  would  produce 
anything  but  a  flattering  resemblance  of  the  flower,  so 
perhaps  they  had  better  let  it  alone. 

When  the  blossom  of  the  scabious  is  over,  it  is  easy 
to  see  the  little  wedges  of  germs,  still  with  their  sharp 
prickly  whiskers  of  calyx,  all  rising  up  together  in  a 
sort  of  mountain,  holding  at  first  tight,  then  more 
loosely,  to  each  other,  as  if  loath  to  part  from  the 
loving  fellowship  in  which  they  have  flourished  to¬ 
gether,  and  worn  together  their  rich  and  sober  array ; 
and  not  parting  till  rain,  frost,  or  wind  finally  rend 
them  asunder,  and  send  them  each  to  be  the  founder 
of  a  fresh  colony  of  scabious.  Nobody  exactly  knows 
whence  this  kind  of  scabious  came ;  it  has  been  grow¬ 
ing  in  English  gardens  for  the  last  two  hundred  years, 
but  whence  it  was  brought  is  not  certain. 

The  next  aggregate  flower  is  a  bold  fierce  fellow,  one 
of  the  tallest,  strongest,  and  sharpest  of  the  dwellers 
in  our  hedges,  the  teazel,  namely.  How  prickly  it 
is,  only  second  in  sharpness  to  the  thistle,  wearing  a 
hedge  of  thorns  in  every  possible  place  where  there  is 
room  for  them.  The  whole  of  the  firm  hard  hollow 
stem  is  scattered  with  little  hooks,  bent  downwards ; 
the  chief  ribs  of  the  leaves  have  prickles  all  along  their 
under  side;  the  long  narrow  leaflets  of  the  common 
calyx  are  perfect  ranks  of  pricks  beneath ;  and  as  to 
the  great  head  itself,  it  is  a  very  porcupine,  for  each 
little  lilac  flower  dwells  at  the  very  bottom  of  a  deep 


116 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


calyx,  furnished  with  two  hard,  sharp,  strong  spikes, 
like  a  warrior’s  spears  set  up  before  his  tent.  Not 
only  are  these  spikes  sharpened  at  the  point,  but  the 
whole  length  is  jagged  with  little  hooked  teeth,  and  so 
hard  and  tough  is  the  substance,  that  long  after  the 
blossom  has  faded,  all  through  autumn  and  winter  you 
may  see  the  brown  stem  and  bristly  head  standing 
boldly  up,  facing  all  the  storms  of  snow  and  rain,  and 
not  lost  sight  of  till  summer  comes  again. 

Indeed,  from  its  long  endurance  in  this  condition, 
we  generally  think  of  a  teazel  as  this  hard,  dry, 
bleached  object,  instead  of  the  beautiful  creature  it  is 
in  its  prime,  in  the  middle  of  July,  when  the  calyx 
spines  are  in  their  full  glory  of  green  freshness,  and 
the  principal  head  standing  up  in  its  grandeur,  with 
the  little  attendant  ones  on  either  side,  looking  like  a 
monarch  wearing  his  crown ;  for  the  flowers  do  not  all 
blossom  at  once,  but  come  out  in  bands  or  circlets 
round  the  conical  head,  so  as  to  resemble  a  garland 
bound  round  it.  Truly  the  teazel  thus  crowned  is  a 
noble  warrior  of  the  way-side.  And  he  is  to  be  ad¬ 
mired,  too,  for  his  patient  endurance  in  firmness  and 
strength  long  after  his  brightest  days  are  past. 

The  leaves  of  the  teazel  are  curious ;  they  are  what 
is  called  sessile,  sitting  on  the  stem,  that  is  to  say, 
without  leaf-stalks.  They  grow  in  pairs,  and  the  lower 
ones  meet  quite  together  and  join  at  the  bottom,  form¬ 
ing  but  one  leaf  round  the  stem,  and  making  a  deep 
cup,  which  after  rain  is  often  to  be  found  filled  with 
water ;  indeed,  I  have  seen  this  pretty  green  pond  well 
filled,  even  in  the  midst  of  a  dry  summer,  so  as  to  keep 
the  leaves  strong,  healthy,  and  fresh,  as  long  as  they 
are  required  to  draw  in  air  for  the  growing  seed. 

The  teazel  is  of  importance  to  the  making  of  cloth, 


FLOCKS  OF  FLOWERS. 


117 


for  the  little  delicate  yet  firm  hooks  are  better  than 
anything  that  man.  with  all  his  machinery,  has  ever 
been  able  to  devise  for  raising  the  nap  without  tear¬ 
ing  the  cloth  itself.  For  this  purpose  large  fields  of 
teazels  are  grown  in  the  manufacturing  counties,  their 
heads  are  cut  off  and  fixed  in  a  frame,  well  sorted 
according  to  their  sizes,  and  the  cloth  being  damped 
and  spread  out  on  a  table,  they  are  drawn  across  it, 
and  the  little  claws  just  raise  the  threads  sufficiently  to 
give  the  soft  woolliness  of  effect.  So  much  did  the 
cloth-makers  of  old  value  the  teazel,  that  three  teazel 
heads  are  the  arms  of  the  Clothiers’  Company. 

Another  aggregate  flower  is  the  plantain  or  ribgrass, 
the  prettiest  kind  of  which  is  the  ribwort  plantain, 
better  known  to  country  children  by  the  name  of 
knock-heads.  You  see  the  reason  of  the  name  of  rib¬ 
wort  in  the  broad  ribs  of  the  leaves,  with  their  pur¬ 
plish  pink  stems  ;  and  oh  !  the  toughness  of  the  stalks, 
so  much  easier  to  pull  up  from  the  root  than  to  break. 

The  head  of  blossom  is  very  pretty;  the  little  calyxes 
as  black  as  jet,  and  very  hard  and  lasting  ;  the  corollas 
very  small  and  brown,  and  coming  out  like  the  teazel, 
in  bands,  instead  of  all  at  once ;  the  anthers  cream- 
coloured,  and  the  filaments  very  long,  so  that  when  in 
blossom  the  black  head  wears  a  most  beautiful  and 
graceful  wreath  of  white  dancing  pearls  or  studs,  I 
hardly  know  which  to  call  them. 

I  daresay  you  have  often  twisted  and  knocked  the 
heads  together  to  try  which  has  the  strongest  stalk, 
but  I  wonder  whether  you  know  how  to  make  a  knock- 
head  basket  ?  Gather  a  good  many  of  the  longest  and 
strongest  you  can  find,  pull  off  their  pretty  black  heads, 
crowns,  and  all,  then  take  the  stoutest  of  all,  and  give 
it  to  some  small  brother  or  sister  to  hold  at  full  length 


118 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


for  you.  Then  take  one  of  the  others,  bend  it  in  the 
middle,  and  give  it  one  twist  round  the  first.  Oh,  but 
we  want  another  pair  of  hands,  some  other  little  per¬ 
son  must  come  and  hold  the  ends.  Hold  them  tight 
while  you  twist  another  knock-head  in  the  same  way, 
and  add  the  ends  to  the  former  one ;  then  another, 
and  another ;  hold  fast  and  be  patient,  little  helpers, 
till  some  twenty  or  five-and-twenty  have  been  put 
on,  twisted  in  the  middle,  and  the  ends  held  in  two 
bundles.  Now  get  some  string,  tie  one  set  of  ends 
together,  now  tie  the  other,  cut  them  even,  then  re¬ 
lease  the  little  ones  who  had  been  holding  the  first 
stalk  so  patiently,  and  tie  the  ends  of  that  together  as 
neatly  as  you  can  for  the  handle,  and  now  you  have  a 
knock-head  basket.  It  will  not  stand,  to  be  sure,  for 
it  has  only  a  ridge  at  the  bottom,  and  it  will  only  last 
a  day,  but  it  will  do  very  nicely  to  please  the  little 
ones  and  hold  daisies ;  and  if  you  are  as  happy  making 
them  as  I  have  been,  you  will  not  be  much  to  be  pitied. 

Here  is  the  hoary  plantain,  with  leaves  growing  in 
a  neat  compact  form  close  to  the  ground,  tall  stems 
with  white  cottony  coats  and  long  heads,  which  have 
pretty  pale  pink  filaments  and  white  anthers ;  there  is 
also  the  buckshorn  plaintain,  or  star  of  the  earth,  so 
called  from  its  branching  leaves,  which  spread  out  like 
a  star  in  very  dry  pastures.  And  the  greater  plantain, 
with  very  long  heads  and  pink  stamens,  growing  in  the 
hedges  of  fields,  and  in  the  sides  of  cart-tracks,  is  well 
known  to  all  keepers  of  caged  birds  ;  for  the  chirp  and 
hop  with  which  the  canary  or  bullfinch  receives  it,  is  a 
sufficient  reward  for  all  the  pain  the  tough  stem  may 
give  the  fingers  that  uproot  it. 

The  burnet  is  another  aggregate  flower,  the  blossoms 
of  which  come  out  a  few  at  a  time,  on  its  round  green 


FLOCKS  OF  FLOWERS. 


119 


head,  and  are  of  a  beautiful  deep  crimson.  It  used  to 
be  valued  for  the  food  of  cattle,  and  though  it  is  now 
little  regarded,  it  is  often  to  be  found  in  grass  fields. 

And  beautiful,  most  beautiful,  among  garden  shrubs 
is  the  budlea,  with  its  little  orange-coloured  balls, 
delightful  to  the  eye  and  delightful  to  the  smell.  O, 
the  beautiful  garden  where  I  remember  them,  with  its 
sloping  green  bank,  and  the  ragged  fir-trees  opening 
to  show  the  church  tower,  and  the  arm  of  the  sea 
which  could  just  be  seen  through  the  trees,  with  the 
little  white-sailed  boats  tacking  about  on  it ;  and  the 
gum-cistus  raining  down  its  frail  leaves  in  the  middle 
of  the  grass-plot,  where  we  used  to  blow  our  soap- 
bubbles,  and  try  to  make  them  sail  away  over  the 
house ;  and  the  blue  sky  and  bright  sun ;  and  the 
orange  balls  of  the  budleas  hanging  high  up  and  con¬ 
trasting  with  the  blue  of  the  sky.  You  will  say  the 
budlea  has  little  to  do  with  all  this,  but  it  was  there 
that  I  first  knew  and  first  loved  those  bright  little 
orange  marbles,  and  the  very  sight  of  them  always 
brings  back  in  a  moment  the  sights  and  sounds  of  that 
pleasant  place.  I  daresay  it  is  a  beautiful  sight  in  its 
own  home  on  the  skirts  of  the  Andes  in  Chili,  from 
whence  it  was  brought  to  England  about  the  year  1774. 

Besides  these  pretty  flocks  of  flowers,  the  fourth  class 
contains  a  set  called  crossworts,  with  all  their  parts 
divided  in  fours  ;  a  stem  in  an  exact  square,  leaves  at 
regular  intervals,  growing  in  twice  fours,  a  calyx  in 
four  divisions,  a  corolla  likewise  in  fours — four  sta¬ 
mens,  half  four  cells  to  the  germ,  and  four  seeds. 

The  largest  of  these  crossworts  is  the  sweet  wood¬ 
ruff,  with  its  pretty  white  stars  of  flowers,  and  the 
leaves  that  remain  sweet  so  long  after  they  are  gather¬ 
ed.  It  has  many  relations,  with  very  small  flowers, 


120 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


and  a  profusion  of  them ;  the  white  and  yellow  ladies’- 
bed-straw,  which  you  may  find  in  quantities  along  the 
lanes  in  the  latter  part  of  the  summer  ;  and  there  is  a 
pretty  lilac  sort  somewhat  larger,  which  grows  in  gar¬ 
dens,  whither  it  has  been  brought  from  Persia,  and 
which  is  apt  to  grow  and  spread  much  too  fast. 

There  is  also  the  cliders,  or  goose-grass,  which  every¬ 
body  knows,  and  everybody  dreads,  so  thickly  are  its 
long,  weak,  trailing  stems,  its  narrow  leaves  and  round 
seed-vessels,  stuck  with  little  tiny  hooks,  which,  when 
once  they  have  a  hold,  seem  as  if  they  would  never 
loose  it  again,  and  when  you  pull  them  off  in  one 
place,  catch  hold  in  another. 

Woe  to  the  silk  fringes  which  venture  into  a  hedge 
with  cliders,  for  the  little  round  balls  roll  themselves 
in  so  tight,  that  fringe  and  all  must  come  away  to  get 
them  out ;  and  even  our  spaniel’s  long  silky  ears  often 
come  home  so  thickly  stuck  and  knotted  with  them, 
that  much  pulling  and  tugging  from  us,  and  many  a 
little  remonstrating  squeak  on  his  part,  come  to  pass 
before  they  look  as  they  ought  to  do,  like  his  own 
beautiful  flowing  locks. 

Cliders  have  a  very  minute  white  flower ;  I  believe 
the  proper  name  is  cleavers,  because  they  cleave  so 
fast.  They  are  very  good  food  for  young  turkeys 
when  chopped  up  with  chives  and  egg  ;  indeed,  in  for¬ 
mer  days  great  virtues  were  attributed  to  them,  espe¬ 
cially  the  cure  of  the  ear-ache,  and  of  the  bites  of  vipers 
and  spiders.  If  ever  a  spider  bites  you,  pray  try  to 
cure  it  with  cliders.  My  old  botany-book  also  says, 
that  Dioscorides  observes  that  the  shepherds  make  use 
of  it  to  strain  their  milk  through.  I  wish  Dioscorides 
had  also  told  us  how  they  managed  to  do  so. 

The  holly  also  belongs  to  the  fourth  class,  and  so  do 


MORE  PENTAGON  FLOWERS. 


121 


a  few  other  plants,  but  none  of  any  note.  The  pretty 
ladies’-mantle,  with  a  green  blossom  and  an  elegant 
leaf,  something  the  shape  of  a  mallow,  is  the  only  one 
you  are  likely  to  notice,  unless  you  go  much  deeper 
into  botany  than  these  chapters  can  take  you. 

There  is  a  beautiful  foreign  tribe  called  the  Protea, 
growing  in  Africa  and  South  America,  with  wonderful 
leaves  and  magnificent  blossoms.  They  are  sometimes 
to  be  seen  here  in  hot-houses,  but  as  I  never  made  ac¬ 
quaintance  with  them,  I  will  say  nothing  about  them, 
except  that  if  ever  you  come  in  tlieir  way,  you  will  be 
more  surprised  than  by  anything  you  have  seen  yet  in 
the  way  of  flowers. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CLASS  V. — MORE  PENTAGON  FLOWERS. 

Last  year  we  disposed  of  a  good  many  of  the  fifth  class 
among  the  pentagon  flowers,  but  still  there  remain 
several  more  which  I  hardly  like  to  pass  over  without 
notice,  even  at  the  risk  of  making  this  more  of  a  cata¬ 
logue  of  flowers  than  an  account  of  them.  They  are 
so  plentiful,  and  so  beautiful,  that  what  to  one  child 
may  be  only  a  name  in  print,  will  to  another  recall 
some  graceful,  fresh,  lovely  thing,  that  has  gladdened 
her  eyes  every  summer,  and  been  the  pride  of  her  nose¬ 
gays  during  its  reign,  but  of  which  she  has  never  known 
the  real  name. 

First  stands  that  tall,  dignified  plant,  the  viper’s 
bugloss,  at  least  in  its  perfection  it  is  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  of  wild  flowers,  though  it  varies  extremely 
in  size.  On  a  loose  gravelly  soil,  such  as  suits  it,  it 


122 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


grows  to  a  great  height.  I  have  pulled  up  one  piece, 
which,  from  the  crown  of  its  purple  head  to  the  ex¬ 
treme  point  of  its  jetty  black,  straight,  tapering  root, 
measured  more  than  a  yard  and  a  half,  whereas  in  a 
poor  starved  ground,  where  it  has  either  too  much  or 
too  little  water,  it  dwindles  to  be  scarcely  three  inches 
high,  and  is  hardly  to  be  recognised  as  the  same  plant. 

It  is  named  both  in  Latin  and  English  from  a  viper, 
because  of  its  numerous  stings,  or  rather  bristles.  They 
grow  white  and  hoary,  all  over  its  alternate  leaves,  and 
dark  red  and  sharp  they  stud  the  pale-green  stem ; 
they  fringe  the  calyx,  and  guard  the  whole  person  of 
this  monarch  of  the  waste  from  head  to  foot. 

I  call  the  viper’s  bugloss  a  monarch,  because  it  is  so 
royally  robed.  See  the  beautiful  deep  blue  of  the  full¬ 
blown  flowers,  the  purple  tinge  of  those  which  have 
just  opened,  and,  more  exquisite  than  all,  the  bright 
red  of  the  bud  which  is  slowly  rising  from  its  bristling 
case,  and  preparing  to  unfold  itself  to-morrow.  And 
these  fine  colours  are  brought  into  close  contrast,  for 
see,  the  grand  spike  bears  its  blossoms  on  little  side- 
stems,  each  closely  set  with  a  double  row  of  buds,  and 
curling  downwards  and  inwards  towards  the  point. 
The  flowers  nearest  to  the  main  stem  blossom  first ; 
then,  as  they  wither,  the  spikelet  straightens  as  those 
further  back  expand,  and  thus,  unlike  most  spiked 
plants,  where  the  lower  blossoms  come  out  first,  and 
fade  before  the  upper  ones  are  blown,  the  whole  length 
of  the  tall  head  is  at  once  arrayed  in  blue  flowers  and 
crimson  buds,  the  blue  set  off  to  still  greater  advantage 
by  the  five  long  crimson  stamens  within. 

There  are  several  others  of  these  coarse  prickly- 
stemmed  plants,  with  curling  spikes  of  blossom,  and 
for  the  most  part  with  blue  flowers,  with  a  tendency 


MORE  PENTAGON  FLOWERS. 


123 


to  turn  red.  The  anchusa,  or  alkanet,  the  borage  with 
black  stamens,  the  lungwort  with  spotted  leaves,  often 
found  in  cottage  gardens,  and  the  comfrey,  are  of  these. 
The  wild  comfrey,  growing  by  the  river  bank,  with 
large  rough  leaves  and  bell-sliaped  flowers,  blossoming 
in  pairs,  and  with  five  curious  scales  closing  the  throat 
of  the  corolla,  is  of  all  shades,  between  deep  red,  purple, 
and  yellowish  white ;  you  can  hardly  find  two  plants 
bearing  exactly  the  same  tint ;  but  that  fine,  tall, 
bushy  plant,  the  prickly  comfrey,  which  grows  in  gar¬ 
dens,  has  blossoms  which  are  pink  in  the  bud,  and 
blue  when  unfolded. 

The  liound’s-tongue,  so  called  from  the  form  of  its 
leaves,  has  small  dark-red  blossoms,  very  pretty,  but 
the  wholp  plant,  wLicli  grows  by  the  wray-side,  gene¬ 
rally  wears  a  thick  coat  of  dust,  and  it  has  a  peculiar 
smell,  which  probably  led  to  its  being  once  used  in 
medicine. 

The  henbane,  poisonous  to  those  who  eat  it  un¬ 
guardedly,  is  very  valuable  as  medicine  when  properly 
prepared.  It  is  not  very  often  seen  growing,  but  when 
it  is  found,  it  is  usually  on  waste  land,  by  road-sides. 
It  grows  close  to  the  ground,  with  pale,  woolly,  clammy 
leaves,  an  unpleasant  smell,  and  a  handsome,  but 
venomous-looking,  flower,  of  pale  cream-colour,  cover¬ 
ed  with  a  network  of  purple  lines,  and  with  a  deep, 
dark-purple  throat.  If  you  find  any,  keep  the  little 
ones  from  touching  it,  but  don’t  pull  it  up,  for  it  is  so 
rare,  that  botanists  think  a  specimen  a  great  prize,  and 
lament  if  they  find  it  gone  from  the  spot  where  it  once 
was  known. 

Even  more  rare  than  the  henbane,  and  still  more 
poisonous,  is  the  dwale,  or  deadly  nightshade,  which 
has  its  Latin  name  Atropa  from  one  of  the  three  Fates, 


124 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


who,  as  the  ancient  Greeks  believed,  spun  the  thread 
of  human  life.  Atropos,  the  one  from  whom  this 
deadly  plant  is  named,  was  the  third,  who  held  the 
shears  which  cut  off  the  thread  when  it  had  come  to 
its  full  length. 

Every  now  and  then  we  hear  of  some  poor  little 
child  who  has  been  so  carelessly  watched  as  to  be 
allowed  to  eat  the  dark-purple  berries  of  the  night¬ 
shade,  which  have  a  sweetish  taste,  and  thus  tempt  it 
on  to  its  own  destruction,  for  one  alone  is  sufficient  to 
produce  a  fatal  stupor  and  heaviness,  which  are  almost 
sure  to  end  in  death. 

Poison-fruits  seem  to  be  placed  in  this  world  in  order 
to  put  us  in  mind  of  temptation  and  sin,  which  allure  us 
at  first,  and  then  destroy  us.  We  may  almost  feel  sure 
that  the  earth  brought  forth  no  poison  before  sin  had 
entered  into  the  world,  and  death  by  sin. 

Do  you  observe,  too,  that  the  birds  and  other  ani¬ 
mals  never  poison  themselves  with  wild  fruits,  it  is 
oidy  children  that  ever  do  so.  This  is  because  God 
has  given  the  creatures  instinct  which  guards  them 
from  even  desiring  what  would  hurt  them,  whereas  He 
has  given  us  reason  to  conquer  our  desires  when  they 
would  lead  us  to  our  own  injury.  I  believe,  too,  that 
no  child,  who  has  not  a  habit  of  pampering  its  taste 
and  craving  after  things,  not  because  it  is  hungry,  but 
only  because  it  is  greedy,  will  ever  be  in  much  danger 
of  being  tempted  by  these  wild,  unwholesome-looking 
fruits. 

The  dwale  is  very  uncommon.  I  have  only  once 
seen  a  plant  of  it.  It  was  growing  on  an  old  bridge ; 
it  was  very  tall  and  branching,  reaching  some  way 
above  the  parapet,  with  a  quantity  of  light  green  downy 
leaves,  and  a  profusion  of  dark,  dull,  reddish-purple, 


MORE  PENTAGON  FLOWERS. 


125 


bell-shaped  blossoms,  such  a  plant  as  no  one  could 
ever  mistake  after  having  once  met  with  a  description 

of  it. 

This  is  the  real  deadly  nightshade,  a  different  plant 
from  the  woody  nightshade,  which  is  much  more  com¬ 
mon  and  less  dangerous.  This  last  has  shining  red 
berries,  drooping,  and  of  a  very  pretty  form.  They 
would  make  you  very  sick  and  giddy  lor  some  days  if 
you  were  to  eat  them,  but  would  probably  not  kill  you, 
unless  you  were  very  weakly.  It  grows  on  heaps  of 
rubbish,  and  by  way-sides.  It  is  a  small  plant,  with 
heart-shaped  leaves,  and  very  pretty  flowers,  the  co¬ 
rolla  purple,  and  what  is  called  deflected,  or  turned 
back,  so  that  the  yellow  stamens,  which  are  all  gather¬ 
ed  together  in  one,  with  the  pistil  like  a  point,  in  the 
middle  projecting  forwards,  like  the  boss  on  an  ancient 
shield,  while  the  corolla  and  calyx  lavish  all  their  care 
upon  the  germ  behind  them.  The  garden  nightshade 
is  almost  exactly  like  it,  but  the  flower  is  white,  and 
the  berries  purple. 

There  are  several  other  plants  formed  like  the  woody 
nightshade.  There  is  the  pretty  American  cowslip, 
with  its  trim,  fair  lilac  blossoms,  nodding  round  its 
slender  stem,  not  very  like  a  cowslip,  to  be  sure ;  but 
as  it  grows  in  its  own  country,  in  the  long  grass,  and 
blows  in  early  spring,  I  suppose  it  put  the  first  settlers 
in  Canada  in  mind  of  the  yellow  cowslips  they  had  left 
at  home ;  and  when  their  children  trotted  up  to  their 
log  huts,  with  hands  full  of  these  pretty  flowers,  as 
their  own  used  to  be  of  the  cowslips  in  their  own 
native  village,  they  liked  to  call  them  by  the  same 
friendly  old  name,  bringing  back,  perhaps,  the  remem¬ 
brance  of  playfellows  who  had  been  cowslip-gatherers 
with  them  in  the  old  country. 


126 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Another  plant  with  lilac  deflected  corolla  and  pro¬ 
jecting  yellow  stamens,  was  imported  from  America 
three  hundred  years  ago,  by  an  English  knight.  It 
has  fibrous  roots,  with  tubers  at  the  knots  ;  large,  com¬ 
pound,  wrinkled  leaves ;  and  the  fruit  is  a  dark-pur¬ 
plish  berry. 

This  knight  planted  these  curiosities  on  his  estate 
in  Ireland,  and  there  left  them,  telling  his  servants 
that  they  would  be  very  good  food.  In  due  time  they 
budded,  the  lilac  flowers  opened  and  faded,  and  the 
green  berries  became  dark.  The  servants  tasted  them, 
and  soon  found  them  both  nauseous  and  unwholesome, 
so  they  dug  up  the  roots  and  threw  them  away ;  but 
when  the  master  returned,  he  made  inquiry  for  them, 
searched,  and  found  some  still  alive,  which  he  caused 
to  be  planted,  explaining  that  it  was  the  root  instead 
of  the  fruit  that  was  good  to  eat. 

And  so  it  proved,  the  root  was  found  to  be  excel¬ 
lent,  the  culture  was  improved,  and  care  made  the 
plant  grow  better  and  produce  more  and  larger  tubers, 
till  at  last  this  American  root  became  the  chief  food 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Ireland,  and  few  persons  in  Eng¬ 
land  like  to  make  a  dinner  without  it.  The  French 
call  this  excellent  root  the  apple  of  the  earth ;  we  give 
it  a  name  something  like  the  Indian  word  it  was  called 
by  when  first  brought  from  South  America,  and  what 
that  is  I  am  sure  you  have  guessed  by  this  time,  as 
well  as  who  was  the  knight  who  brought  it  home. 

The  reason  why  the  berries  of  the  potatoe  are  un- 
wholsesome  is,  that  they  partake  of  the  nature  of  the 
Solan um,  or  woody  nightshade,  the  whole  of  which  race 
are  more  or  less  poisonous.  You  know  that  very  little 
use  is  made  of  the  potatoe  berry,  even  for  seed.  It  is 
only  now  and  then  sown,  when  people  wish  to  pro- 


MORE  PENTAGON  FLOWERS. 


127 


duce  some  new  variety ;  and  the  plant  is  propagated 
from  what  is  called  the  eye,  the  little  black  spots  which 
we  see  in  the  tubers,  or,  as  we  are  more  used  to  call¬ 
ing  them,  the  potatoes.  I  believe  that  in  fact  what  we 
eat  are  not  roots  at  all,  the  roots  being  only  the  long 
stringy  net-work  of  fibres  that  go  so  deep  into  the 
ground,  and  that  the  tuber  is  really  a  sort  of  under¬ 
ground  stem,  protecting,  in  a  fleshy  nest,  the  young 
buds  which  are  to  bear  leaves  and  blossoms  in  the  next 
year.  The  eye,  then,  is  the  bud,  which,  when  planted, 
with  a  sufficient  quantity  of  the  tuber  to  afford  it 
nourishment  through  the  winter,  will  grow,  and  in  the 
summer  put  forth  leaves  above  and  fibres  beneath, 
which  will  in  due  time  form  more  tubers.  Thus  you 
see  that  Providence  has  provided  food  for  us,  at  the 
same  time  as  for  the  plentiful  increase  of  the  plant. 

Potatoe  grounds  are  a  very  pretty  country  sight,  with 
their  regular  ridge  and  furrow,  and  the  long  ranks  of 
plants  growing  so  evenly,  with  their  rich  green  bend¬ 
ing  foliage,  and  the  white  or  lilac  flowers  hanging 
four  or  five  together  on  their  slender  stems ;  indeed, 
the  flower  is  in  itself  so  pretty,  that  I  think  the 
plant  would  be  grown  for  its  beauty,  even  if  it  was 
of  no  use. 

Autumn,  too,  brings  a  very  pleasant  sight,  when  the 
stout  men  and  boys  go  to  work,  digging  deep  in  the 
ridges,  which  stand  up  so  neat  and  trim  before  them, 
while  behind  all  is  trodden  down  flat ;  and  their  prongs 
and  forks  bring  up  a  whole  net  of  fibres,  with  the 
brown  lumps  hanging  among  them ;  and  there  are  the 
women  behind  with  great  gloves  and  knives,  or  spuds, 
clearing  off  the  fibres,  throwing  away  the  old  dry 
haulm,  and  scraping  off  the  rich  brown  earth,  then, 
as  the  potatoes  come  out,  tumbling  them  into  the  sack 


128 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


or  barrow,  to  be  wheeled  off  to  the  winter’s  store,  often 
a  droll  little  thatched  burrow  in  the  field.  Funny 
things  are  those  potatoes,  brown,  yellow,  or  red,  and 
of  such  comical  shapes,  especially  pigs’  potatoes,  like 
strings  of  beads,  and  now  and  then  in  clusters  almost 
like  a  little  man  with  a  little  round  head,  and  two  legs. 
They  have  odd  names,  too,  according  to  the  varieties, 
which  are  very  different  according  to  the  soil.  Some 
places  are  so  much  less  favourable  to  their  goodness 
than  others,  that  the  best  potatoes  degenerate  in  them 
after  the  first  year,  and  the  seed  (the  eye,  that  is  to 
say,)  has  continually  to  be  renewed  from  the  more 
suitable  soil.  Thus  London  is  supplied  with  potatoes 
grown  in  Yorkshire,  and  of  which  the  seed  is  brought 
every  year  from  Scotland.  Some  parts  of  Cornwall, 
and  the  Channel  Isles,  are  also  regions  where  the 
potatoe  thrives,  and  is  better  than  elsewhere. 

Ireland  is,  however,  its  great  home,  and  it  is  only 
within  the  last  hundred  years  that  the  cultivation  has 
spread  so  universally  in  England.  It  had  so  become 
the  poor  man’s  food  that  it  is  hard  to  think  how  people 
lived  without  it;  and  for  many  years  it  seemed  the 
most  certain  of  all  crops ;  but  some  years  ago,  as 
almost  the  youngest  reader  can  remember,  came  a 
warning  that  our  own  skill,  labour,  and  foresight,  can 
never  secure  us  from  famine,  and  that  it  is  God  alone 
who  can  give  or  withhold  our  daily  food. 

The  tall  flourishing  green  haulm  of  the  potatoes, 
which  had  been  finer  than  ever  that  year,  began  to 
shrivel  and  turn  black,  a  sickly  unwholesome  smell 
spread  over  the  gardens,  and  in  a  few  weeks  every 
plant  was  but  brown  withered  stalks ;  then  the  mis¬ 
chief  spread  to  the  roots,  and  the  whole  promise  of  the 
year  was  turned  to  blight  and  decay.  There  was 


MORE  PENTAGON  FLOWERS. 


129 


scarcely  a  cottage  that  did  not  suffer  more  or  less,  or 
where  the  children  did  not  leave  their  dinner  scarcely 
satisfied  ;  and  in  poor  Ireland,  there  was  starvation 
and  misery  such  as,  thank  heaven,  we  never  saw,  and 
can  scarcely  conceive. 

Then  came  the  Fast  Day,  which  bade  us  mourn  for 
the  sins  which  had  brought  wrath  upon  us,  and  pray 
that  God  would  again  bless  our  basket  and  our  store ; 
and  then  in  Ilis  mercy  we  received  an  abundant  har¬ 
vest  of  corn,  while  the  potatoes,  though  not  free  from 
disease,  were  far  more  healthy  than  in  the  past  year. 
Then,  did  we  remember  to  give  thanks  with  our  whole 
hearts  ?  And  have  we  since  remembered  the  resolu¬ 
tions  we  made  in  the  time  of  our  fear  and  distress  ? 

Since  that  first  year,  though  the  potatoes  have  never 
been  quite  free  from  disease,  they  have  not  been  so 
much  touched  as  at  first ;  and,  besides  the  training  in 
giving  up  to  others,  and  denying  ourselves,  which 
doubtless  the  year  of  distress  brought  to  some,  it  taught 
prudent  people  not  to  rely  so  entirely  on  it  as  a  certain 
crop,  but  to  grow  other  things  that  may  be  used  in  case 
the  potatoe  should  fail. 

Besides  these,  we  have  the  tall  yellow  loose  strife, 
with  its  shining  yellow  spikes,  by  the  river  side ;  and 
its  pretty  trailing  brother,  the  moneywort,  with  leaves 
in  pairs,  and  polished  yellow  blossoms,  creeping  on  the 
moist  hedge-bank  in  long  wreaths,  which  are  ready¬ 
made  garlands  for  little  girls’  heads ;  and  a  third  kind, 
the  yellow  pimpernel,  with  thin  leaves,  and  bright 
golden  stars  of  blossom.  Then  conies  the  true  pimper¬ 
nel,  the  shepherd’s  weather-glass.  Bright  little  thing, 
one  of  the  three  scarlet  flowers  of  sober  England,  does 
not  everyone  know  it,  and  like  it,  even  though  we  must 
call  it  a  weed  ?  Surely  it  may  grow  under  currant  bushes, 

9 


130 


TIIE  HEItB  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


and  among  cabbages  without  offence,  though  it  must  be 
turned  out  of  our  flower-beds.  Its  Latin  name,  Ana- 
gallis,  means  laughing,  and  certainly  it  does  laugh  in 
the  sunshine,  which  it  loves  so  much  that  it  shuts  up 
its  leaves  not  only  in  the  evening  on  cloudy  days,  but 
when  there  is  rain  in  the  air — little  weather-wise  thing. 
Its  blossoms  are  on  long  slender  stems,  and  its  round 
urns  of  capsules  turn  down  to  the  earth  to  ripen  the 
fruit.  The  stamens  are  covered  with  a  beautiful  soft 
down,  and  the  leaves  grow  in  pairs.  Sometimes  you 
may  find  a  pimpernel  exactly  like  this  in  everything 
except  that  the  corolla  is  of  a  rich  deep  blue.  We  had 
one  single  plant  in  our  kitchen-garden  some  ten  or 
twelve  years  ago,  which  Ave  thought  a  great  prize.  Now 
its  descendants  have  spread  all  over  that  part  of  the 
garden,  and  sometimes,  from  the  pollen  of  the  scarlet 
and  blue  getting  mixed,  as  I  suppose,  there  come  up 
pale  lilac  pimpernels,  not  so  pretty,  but  curious.  A 
third  kind  of  these  laughing  flowers,  is  found  in  Avet 
places,  the  delicate  bog  pimpernel,  white,  striped  with 
pink,  growing  in  long  trailing  wreaths,  Avith  little  round 
leaves  in  pairs.  A  large  handsome  sort,  very  rich 
blue,  looking  like  my  OAvn  blue  pimpernel  magnified,  is 
groAvn  in  gardens,  by  its  company  name  of  Anagallis. 

The  doAvny  stamens  are  found  again  in  the  mullein 
tribe,  very  Avoolly  plants  in  general,  leaves  and  all  so 
covered  with  down,  that  they  are  sometimes  called  poor 
man’s  flannel,  and  the  yellow  blossoms  in  tall  single 
spikes.  The  great  white  mullein  has  leaves  nearly 
white  with  down,  white  furry  stamens  and  red  anthers ; 
the  black  mullein  is  likeAvise  yelloAv  floAvered,  but  the 
doAvn  on  the  filaments  is  purple  ;  the  moth  mullein  is 
the  prettiest  of  all,  Avith  yellow  butterfly-like  blossoms 
on  a  loose  spike.  It  is  often  found  in  gardens,  some¬ 
times,  though  rarely,  Avild. 


131 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


CLASS  Y. — CURRANTS  AND  CLIMBERS. 

I  hope  you  are  not  tired  of  pentagon  flowers,  for  we 
are  not  by  any  means  at  the  end  of  them.  The  pen¬ 
tagon  or  cinquefoil,  is  the  most  graceful  of  mathe¬ 
matical  figures,  and  that  which  looks  most  beautiful  in 
architecture,  as  we  see  it  so  often  in  the  tracery  of  the 
heads  of  church  windows  ;  and  thus  it  seems,  as  if 
Nature  had  adopted  it,  as  the  most  ordinary,  and,  as  it 
were,  standard  form  of  those  of  her  productions,  which, 
above  all  others,  unite  regularity  of  shape  with  beauty 
of  colouring. 

See,  as  an  especial  instance  of  this  union,  that  ex¬ 
quisite  garden-flower,  the  Phlox  Drummondii,  with  its 
shape  as  regular  as  the  periwinkle,  and  its  markings 
varying  in  width  and  in  tint,  from  narrow  borders  to 
wide  streaks,  from  pale  delicate  pink  to  the  deepest 
crimson  “freaked  with  jet,”  yet  never  failing  in  all 
their  varieties  to  keep  to  that  one  principle  of  the 
regular  five-sided  figure.  It  is  a  hardy  flower,  and 
will,  no  doubt,  soon  be  more  common  than  it  is  as 
yet,  for  it  was  only  in  1838  that  it  was  first  grown 
in  England,  from  seeds  brought  from  Texas,  by  Mr. 
Drummond,  from  whom  it  is  named.  Or,  look  at  the 
regular  pentagons  of  the  Gilia  tricolour,  its  yellow 
throat,  trimmed  with  a  clear,  distinct,  dark-brown  line, 
and  its  grey  shaded  corolla,  all  its  divisions  so  equal 
and  distinct  in  form  and  colour. 


132 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


These  all  have  divided  corollas,  like  the  primrose 
and  periwinkle  ;  others  have  equally  regular  pentagonal 
corollas  like  the  campanula,  but  undivided,  only  marked 
at  the  angles  by  a  sort  of  groove  or  fold.  The  largest 
of  these  is  the  great  datura  or  thorn  apple,  with  its 
bell-like  white  blossom  ;  and  its  hot-house  companion, 
the  deep  orange- coloured  datura.  The  prettiest  and 
best  known  are  the  convolvuli  or  bindweed.  These 
beautiful  flowers  spread  nearly  all  over  the  world,  and 
the  English  kinds,  as  usual,  are  as  graceful  and  elegant, 
though  less  sliOAvy  than  their  foreign  cousins. 

Of  all  the  fair  things  in  the  world,  what  is  more 
lovely  than  our  great  white  bindweed,  its  twining 
wreaths  of  heart-shaped  leaves  and  delicate  white 
flowers,  their  buds  so  gracefully  rolled  and  folded  in 
that  tapering  form?  Nothing  gives  a  greater  sense  of 
purity  than  those  stainless  flowers,  in  the  midst  of  their 
green  bowers,  looking  as  if  it  was  a  sort  of  cruelty  to 
touch  or  injure  anything  so  exquisitely  beautiful  and 
delicate,  that  a  breath  will  almost  soil  it,  and  if  gather¬ 
ed,  in  a  few  moments  it  is  a  melancholy,  crushed,  faded 
thing.  It  is  like  the  driven  snow,  too  pure  to  bear  the 
taint  of  man’s  touch. 

The  little  pink  bindwreed  is  one  of  our  prettiest 
flowers ;  the  five  deep  lines  that  mark  its  divisions 
almost  always  white,  while  the  space  between  them 
blushes  to  every  shade  of  pink,  according  to  the  place 
in  which  it  grows ;  if  in  the  sunshine,  it  is  almost 
white  ;  if  in  the  shade,  the  colour  is  bright  and  deep ; 
always  beautiful,  however,  wutli  its  twining  spiring 
stems.  It  is  a  pity  that,  beautiful  as  it  is,  it  must,  like 
other  good  things,  when  they  get  into  unfit  places,  be 
often  considered  as  a  weed,  and  rooted  up.  We  cannot 
suffer  it  to  creep  about  our  neat  paths,  or  fetter  our 


CURRANTS  AND  CLIMBERS. 


133 


choice  plants,  any  more  than  we  can  or  ought  to  allow 
our  healthful  play  to  take  up  the  time  that  ought  to  be 
spent  on  our  useful  employments. 

Equally  frail,  and  still  prettier,  is  the  flower  which 
the  French  call  “the  beauty  of  the  day,”  and  we  the 
Convolvulus  minor,  that  blue,  white,  and  yellow  bell, 
blossoming  in  the  morning,  and  fading  by  sunset, 
closing  up  too,  on  cloudy  days,  as  if  it  felt  the  change 
to  our  grey  sky,  from  its  own  sunny  clime  on  the 
Mediterranean  shores.  It  grows  near  the  ground,  and 
does  not  climb,  as  does  our  other  common  garden  Con¬ 
volvulus,  the  major,  which  delights  to  twist  about  a 
trellis-work,  or  wind  round  a  pole.  It  is  an  East- 
Indian  plant,  and  therefore  requires  care ;  but  in  its 
native  home  its  flowers  can  be  open  but  a  very  short 
time,  for  they  cannot  even  bear  the  heat  of  our  own 
July  sun.  The  most  curious  and  beautiful  quality  of 
this  species  is,  that  the  same  plant  bears  blossoms  of 
every  variety  of  colour ;  some  deep  intense  violet,  with 
red  veins ;  others  pink,  or  purple,  veined  with  white  ; 
others  again  quite  white,  with  the  divisions  purple. 

Many,  and  many  more,  are  the  kinds  scattered  over 
other  countries,  growing  to  great  size  and  beauty  in  the 
tropical  lands,  where  the  humming-bird  glances  among 
their  bells,  and  the  tailor-bird  sews  their  leaves  together 
with  long  flakes  of  cotton,  to  shield  the  nest  containing 
its  tiny  eggs  ;  some  few  have  been  brought  to  England, 
but  none  except  the  splendid  Mexican  Ipomea,  and  the 
black-eyed  Tliunbergia,  are  much  known. 

Closely  related  to  the  bindweeds,  is  a  very  strange 
plant,  which  you  may  find  on  the  common,  the  dodder. 
Do  you  know  it  ?  Queer,  red,  stringy  thing  !  creeping 
about  on  the  furze  and  heath,  binding  them  down  by  a 
close,  hard  network  of  its  fibres,  without  root,  without 


134 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


leaf,  only  with  these  twisting  stems,  bearing  white 
blossoms  in  little  round  balls,  like  some  of  the  aggre¬ 
gate  flowers  of  the  fourth  class.  If  you  can  find  it,  you 
will  be  much  amused  with  its  strange  appearance,  and 
probably  it  will  entice  you  to  get  your  fingers  well 
pricked  with  the  furze  on  which  it  hangs,  not  feeding 
on  it,  however,  but  nourished  by  air  and  dew. 

Then  come  the  intensely  blue  gentians,  the  dwellers 
on  the  heights  of  the  Alpine  mountains,  and  on  wild 
boggy  heaths,  in  all  countries  ;  their  blue,  from  its  ex¬ 
treme  depth,  though  of  so  much  darker  a  shade,  re¬ 
minding  us  more  of  the  unsearchableness  of  the  sky 
above  than  any  other  colour  I  know. 

The  starry  pentagon  flower  of  the  centaury,  with  its 
delicate  pink  tint,  comes  next,  and  of  all  English  plants, 
I  think  it  is  the  earliest  in  going  to  bed,  for  even  before 
our  afternoon’s  walk  is  finished,  its  pink  blossoms  have 
drawn  in  their  five  points,  and  folded  closely  up,  not  to 
open  till  the  sun  wakes  them  next  morning. 

Here,  too,  comes  the  honeysuckle,  or  woodbine,  far 
from  a  regular  flower,  though  constant  to  the  rule  of 
five.  Delightful  honeysuckle  !  a  dweller  indeed  by  our 
paths  and  homes,  and  a  constant  long-enduring  friend  ; 
its  stem  becoming  hard  wood,  and  growing  on  and  on, 
till  perhaps  generation  after  generation  have  been  born 
and  died  within  the  house  where  it  spreads  and  luxuri¬ 
ates,  and  the  children  who  have  gathered  its  fragrant 
blossoms  have  grown  old,  still  owning  it  as  an  un¬ 
changed  part  of  their  home. 

A  constant,  early,  hardy  friend  it  is,  its  twin  leaves 
coming  out,  first  of  all,  even  in  the  midst  of  winter, 
bringing  cheerful  promise  of  spring,  and  hanging  on  the 
bare  boughs  through  many  a  return  of  cold  and  storm, 
bearing  the  chill  crystals  of  hoar-frost  as  merrily  as  if 


CURRANTS  AND  CLIMBERS. 


335 


they  were  but  dewdrops  of  a  summer  morning.  A 
constant  friend  indeed,  as  many  a  hazel  stick  can  testify, 
so  constant  that  it  becomes  part  of  the  very  wood  itself, 
actually  one  with  it,  assuming  the  same  bark,  and  giving 
it  a  strange  twisted,  whorled  appearance,  as  if  a  snake 
had  twined  round  it.  Most  boys  have  met  with  these 
twisted  sticks,  and  in  that  case  the  friendship  has  gene¬ 
rally  ended  in  the  death  of  both,  for  who  could  resist 
cutting  such  a  precious  walking-stick,  unless,  indeed,  it 
was  in  a  wood  where  such  cutting  was  forbidden? 

Wild  honeysuckles  are  almost  all  white  outside,  with 
the  interior  of  a  pale  glazy  cream  colour ;  those  which 
are  cultivated  are  as  universally  red  on  the  outside,  but 
they  are  both  of  the  same  species,  and  alike  in  all  the 
main  points,  such  as  the  long,  pin-like  pistil,  the  five 
slender  stamens,  the  corolla  with  its  very  long  throat, 
the  little  drop  of  perfumy  nectar  at  the  bottom,  and  the 
top  deeply  cut  into  two  divisions,  one  long,  and  thread¬ 
like,  the  other  broad,  and  notched  into  four  scallops,  so 
as  to  keep  up  the  pentagon  character.  Then  look  at 
the  bud,  how  the  wide  part  is  doubled  down,  and  the 
slender  linear  division  closes  down  over  it,  with  a  red 
edge  marking  its  form,  buds  and  fully  opened  blossoms 
all  standing  in  graceful,  bending,  diverging  positions  on 
the  common  receptacle,  guarded  a  little  way  down  by 
leaves  embracing  the  stem,  one  of  the  most  elegant,  the 
sweetest,  and  most  charming  of  all  our  plants.  The 
fruit  is  a  red,  glossy  berry,  which  you  may  often  find  in 
clusters  in  the  winter. 

Another  irregular  flower  is  the  Balsam,  once  deemed 
so  medicinal  that  the  very  name  implies  something 
healing  ;  though  now  it  is  only  an  ornament  for  our 
gardens  and  hot-houses.  You  remember  that  the 
violet  is  a  pentagon  flower,  and  you  will  soon  see  that 


136 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


the  form  of  the  balsam  is  nearly  similar,  except  that 
the  petals  are  more  irregular,  and  instead  of  the  short 
blunt  spur  of  the  violet,  it.  has  quite  a  long  sharply- 
pointed  curly  tail.  There  is  one  English  sort,  and  a 
very  funny  fellow  it  is,  with  yellow  long  spurred 
flowers,  and  capsides  so  irritable,  that  the  moment  they 
are  touched  their  little  valves  fly  open,  as  if  by  a 
spring,  and  curl  themselves  up,  while  the  seeds  pop  out 
with  a  bounce,  and  scatter  themselves  in  all  directions. 
For  this  reason  it  is  called  in  English,  the  Touch-me- 
not,  and  in  Latin,  the  Impatiens  No  li-ine- tang  ere,  which 
means  the  same  thing.  Though  English,  this  hasty 
gentleman,  or  rather  lady,  for  in  some  places  it  is  called 
Jumping  Betty,  is  not  very  frequent,  and  the  only  place 
where  I  ever  saw  it  growing  wild,  was  on  the  side  of 
a  deep  ravine  in  which  the  streamlet  winds  along  which 
forms  the  cascade  of  Stock  Gill  Force  at  Ambleside. 
It  is  often,  however,  grown  in  gardens,  as  well  as  its 
almost  equally  impatient  Levantine  cousin,  the  purple 
balsam,  a  tall  handsome  plant,  with  purple  flowers,  and 
stems  tinged  with  red,  the  leaves  growing  in  pairs  at 
the  joints.  The  red-and- white  balsam  grown  in  hot¬ 
beds,  and  nursed  in  drawing-rooms,  is,  I  believe,  a 
Cochin  Chinese. 

The  next  division  of  the  class  pentandria,  have  their 
five  seeds  enclosed  in  a  bag  of  pulpy  matter,  which  fur¬ 
nishes  excellent  food  both  for  man  and  bird.  Ivy, 
which  we  spoke  of  before,  is  one  of  those  of  which  we 
are  willing  to  leave  the  birds  full  and  free  possession  ; 
but  we  are  not  quite  so  willing  to  give  them  a  share  of 
the  fruits  of  the  genus  called  Bibes,  for  this  genus  in¬ 
cludes  our  gooseberries  and  currants. 

All  of  this  race  have  hard  woody  shrubby  stems,  and 
for  the  most  part  very  elegantly-formed  leaves,  not 


CURRANTS  AND  CLIMBERS. 


137 


unlike  some  ivy  leaves  in  form,  and  what  botanists  call 
pinnate,  that  is  to  say,  with  wings,  or  projections  on 
each  side  ;  but  constant  to  their  regular  rule,  these 
leaves  have  five  points :  they  are  apt  to  be  a  good  deal 
furrowed  and  wrinkled,  and  the  edges  jagged. 

Some  of  the  American  species  have  such  bright- 
coloured  blossoms,  that  they  are  grown  only  for  their 
beauty,  the  American  currant  being  of  a  very  pretty 
pink,  and  the  American  gooseberry  of  a  splendid  deep 
crimson.  On  examination,  however,  you  will  find  that 
these  fine  colours  reside  entirely  in  the  calyx ;  the 
corolla  is  a  poor  little  white  thing,  like  a  narrow  white 
border  round  the  stamens  and  pistil,  and  this  is  still 
more  the  case  with  our  English  gooseberry  and  currant 
blossoms,  where  the  corolla  is  so  small  that  it  is  hard 
to  find  it  at  all,  it  is  only  a  sort  of  little  scale  within 
the  calyx,  which  in  the  gooseberry  is  reddish-brown — 
in  the  currant  whitish -green.  It  is  superior ,  that  is  to 
say,  growing  above  the  germ.  This,  even  before  the 
blossom  is  over,  is  quite  a  trim-looking  little  green 
gooseberry.  In  the  currant  it  is,  of  course,  much 
smaller,  and  not  hairy.  In  both  species  it  remains  on 
the  fruit  without  falling  off,  as  all  may  remember 
who  have  helped  to  top  and  tail  gooseberries  for  a 
tart. 

No  one  need  be  put  in  mind  of  another  difference 
between  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes,  that  the  first 
are  gentle  harmless  bushes,  whereas  the  others  have 
fierce  long  sharp  spikes,  that  make  merciless  scratches 
on  the  hands  that  come  to  rob  them  of  their  sweet  fruit, 
whether  it  be  stored  in  large  smooth  green  bags,  or  in 
little  dark-red  hairy  ones.  However,  there  is  a  reward 
at  the  end  of  the  scratching  and  tearing,  for  most  people 
will  agree  in  admiration  of  a  gooseberry  tart,  and  still 


138 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


more  of  gooseberry  fool.  Do  you  know  the  reason  of 
that  name  ?  I  assure  you,  in  spite  of  the  goose  at  one 
end,  and  the  fool  at  the  other,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
folly,  and  is  only  a  corruption  of  the  French  word  foule, 
which  means  crushed ;  and  as  to  the  word  gooseberry, 
that  is  derived  in  a  still  more  curious  way.  You  know 
Midsummer-day  is  the  feast  of  St.  John  the  Baptist, 
and  as  the  fruit  comes  just  at  that  time,  the  Germans 
called  it  St.  John’s  berries,  in  their  language  Johannes 
heeren.  This  was  shortened  into  Jansbeeren,  then  into 
Ganzbeeren ;  and  as  gans  is  the  German  for  goose,  we 
English,  adopting  the  name  from  our  neighbours,  learnt 
to  call  them  gooseberries. 

Both  gooseberries  and  currants  are  native  plants, 
and  have  only  been  brought  to  perfection  by  diligent 
cultivation  ;  and  in  this  the  miners,  colliers,  and  iron 
workers  of  the  north  and  midland  counties  have  had  a 
great  share,  taking  great  pains  and  pride  in  nursing 
new  varieties  in  their  little  gardens.  They  have  shows 
every  year,  and  prizes  for  the  largest  fruit,  such  as  a 
copper  tea-kettle  or  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs. 

The  largest  gooseberry  ever  raised  was  exhibited  in 
1825,  and  weighed  31  dwts.  16  grs.  troy  weight;  in¬ 
deed,  no  doubt  its  grower  thought  it  worth  its  weight 
in  gold.  The  sorts  of  gooseberries  have  very  odd 
names,  which  remind  us  to  whom  we  owe  them — such 
as  “  the  old  ironmonger,”  “the  jolly  miner,”  and  with 
less  reason,  “  the  roaring  lion.” 

Nothing  has  more  fragrant  leaves  than  the  black 
currant,  and  how  good  its  fruit  is,  either  in  the  pud¬ 
dings  which  send  children  to  school  with  purple  lips,  or 
in  the  jam  which  is  so  refreshing  in  a  feverish  cold. 
How  pretty  is  the  red  currant,  with  its  bright  shining 
scarlet  clusters  peeping  out  from  the  leaves,  most  es- 


CURRANTS  AND  CUMBERS. 


139 


pecially  pretty  when  trained  against  a  house  ;  and  as  to 
the  white,  with  the  transparent  skin  showing  the  seeds 
like  pebbles  in  a  clear  stream,  I  think  there  are  few 
fruits  so  beautiful  to  the  eye. 

The  currants,  which  are  brought  from  the  isles  of 
Zante  and  Cephalonia,  and  put  into  cakes  and  puddings, 
are  not  of  the  genus  Ribes,  but  are  in  fact  little  grapes. 
They  seem  to  have  the  best  right  to  the  name  of  cur¬ 
rants,  which  is  a  corruption  of  Corinth,  and  I  suppose 
the  fact  is,  that  our  native  fruit  was  named  after  them, 
as  there  is  a  good  deal  of  resemblance.  They  are 
borne  by  little  vines  clipped,  and  made  to  grow  like  our 
currant  bushes  ;  the  fruit  is  of  a  beautiful  deep  purple, 
with  a  bloom  like  a  grape  on  the  fruit,  without  the 
shrivelled  calyx  worn  by  the  Ribes,  and  not  containing 
seeds.  They  are  laid  out  in  heaps  on  cloths  to  dry  in 
the  sun,  packed  in  boxes,  and  come  here  to  meet  us 
at  our  festival  times,  in  christening-cakes,  in  wedding- 
cakes,  in  mince-pies,  and  especially  in  those  fine  large 
penny  buns,  which  come  out  in  great  baskets  at  school 
feasts,  all  brown  and  fresh,  with  those  purple  spots  of 
currants,  looking  so  tempting,  that  the  little  ones  are 
sure  to  pick  them  out  as  the  first  taste  of  the  great 
solid  bun,  that  at  first  seems  enough  to  choke  a  small 
creature,  though  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  you  will 
probably  see  nothing  left  but  crumbs,  unless  a  piece  is 
going  to  be  kept  for  some  smaller  brother  or  sister  who 
does  not  yet  come  to  school,  and  has  cried  to  be  at  the 
feast.  “  To  pick  out  a  plum  ”  from  our  own  cake  has 
been  perfectly  allowable  ever  since  the  days  when  little 
Jack  Horner  sat  in  the  corner,  and  said,  “What  a  good 
boy  am  I,”  though  after  all,  the  wisest  way  in  cake¬ 
eating,  as  in  other  things,  is  to  take  the  sweet  and  solid 
together,  instead  of  leaving  the  last  to  seem  dull  and 


140 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


dreary ;  but  in  the  case  of  the  cake  not  being  our  own, 
remember  that  we  must  “  keep  our  hands  from  pick¬ 
ing”  as  well  as  stealing,  and  that  one  currant  out 
of  a  cake  has  many  a  time  been  the  first  step  in  dis¬ 
honesty  and  evil  of  all  kinds,  to  a  girl  who  might  have 
been  trusted  with  anything  when  first  she  went  out  to 
service. 

From  the  little  grape  of  Corinth  we  come  to  the  real 
grape  vine,  and  the  grandest  of  all  the  climbers,  with 
its  rich  foliage — those  splendid  leaves  of  that  beautiful 
pinnate  form,  that  fine  deep  colour,  and  gracefully-cut 
edge,  those  long  spiral  tendrils  twisting  and  clinging 
so  beautifully,  its  clusters  of  blossoms  like  little  green 
stars,  inferior ,  that  is,  beneath  the  pulpy  germ — which 
is  in  time  to  become  such  magnificent  fruit,  either  green 
or  purple. 

We  have  all  seen  vines,  and  even  in  our  northern 
climate  they  are  noble-looking  things,  covering  the  wall 
with  their  handsome  leaves,  nestling  round  windows, 
spreading  their  long  arms  round  chimneys,  and  some¬ 
times  reaching  along  a  whole  row  of  houses,  though 
their  roots  may  be  only  in  some  dry,  dusty  road-side, 
where  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  that  they  can  find  any 
nourishment ;  but  the  root  is  long,  and  grows  deep, 
beyond  the  upper  surface  of  things,  and  the  main  stem, 
with  its  rough,  ever-changing,  and  cracking  bark,  lives 
to  a  great  age,  so  great  that  it  is  said  that  the  time  of  a 
vine’s  perfection  is  its  fiftieth  year. 

Vines  in  the  open  air  bear  tolerable  fruit,  but  if  we 
wish  to  see  grapes  in  perfection,  we  must  go  into  a  hot¬ 
house,  and  look  up  at  the  noble  clusters  hanging  over¬ 
head,  curtained  by  their  leaves,  and  their  tint  softened 
by  that  fragile  shade  called  the  bloom,  which  consists 
in  reality  of  a  number  of  extremely  minute  scales  of 


CURRANTS  AND  CLIMBERS. 


141 


wax.  Nothing  is  more  luxuriant  than  a  grand  bunch 
of  grapes,  on  their  infinitely  branched  stems,  hanging 
prone  with  their  weight,  and  so  thick  and  multitudi¬ 
nous  that  branch  after  branch  may  be  cut  away  with 
their  rich  burthen,  and  yet  scarcely  be  missed. 

English  wine  is,  however,  not  worth  making ;  the 
sun  of  the  south  is  needed  to  ripen  grapes  sufficiently 
for  the  purpose,  and  that  which  is  here  used  comes 
from  France,  Spain,  Portugal,  and  Germany,  the  in¬ 
habitants  of  other  southern  countries  only  making 
enough  for  themselves,  and  drinking  it  as  commonly 
as  we  drink  beer.  On  the  Mediterranean  coast  of 
Spain  are  grown  those  grapes  which  are  sent  to  us  in 
a  dried  state,  and  which  we  call  raisins,  or  in  a  pud¬ 
ding,  plums  ;  indeed,  in  some  places  a  plum-pudding  is 
called  a  figgy  pudding.  This  puts  us  in  mind  of  Christ¬ 
mas,  too,  when  the  grocers  give  their  regular  customers 
a  present  of  raisins,  so  that  even  the  poorest,  if  they 
are  tolerable  managers,  and  do  not  get  into  debt,  may 
have  their  plum-pudding. 

The  southern  countries  of  Europe  are  the  places  for 
vineyards.  Sometimes  the  vines  are  cut  short  like 
gooseberry-bushes,  or  trained  closely  round  short  poles, 
trimmed,  and  set  at  regular  intervals,  they  are  stretched 
out,  like  espaliers  on  rods,  a  few  feet  from  the  ground. 
In  other  places  they  reach  from  one  pole  to  another  on 
trellises,  and  they  hang  down,  looking  very  graceful 
and  beautiful ;  but  they  look  best  festooned  from  tree 
to  tree,  or  over  the  front  of  a  white-washed  cottage, 
wreathed  round  its  balcony,  or  trained  on  a  trellis  so  as 
to  afford  a  shade  round  some  cool  deep  well,  or  on  a 
narrow  ledge  of  earth,  on  the  sunny  side  of  some  Al¬ 
pine  hill,  where  they  hang  down  and  cover  the  rugged 
rock-side  with  their  verdant  foliage. 


142 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


The  vintage  is  a  beautiful  sight  in  these  countries — 
the  men  cutting  down  the  clusters,  and  the  women  and 
girls  carrying  them  away  in  baskets  on  their  heads  to 
the  wine-press,  where  they  are  trodden,  with  the  bare 
feet,  to  squeeze  out  the  juice.  The  fermentation  by 
which  it  becomes  wine,  frees  it  from  all  impurities,  but 
it  then  has  to  wait  a  long  time  before  it  can  be  used, 
and  the  older  the  wine  the  better  it  is.  At  Xeres,  in 
Spain — the  name  which  we  have  made  into  Sherry — 
there  is  one  cask  of  wine  of  age  and  strength  beyond 
all  reckoning,  which  is  called  “the  mother”  of  Sherry, 
and  each  cask  which  is  exported  receives  a  small 
portion  from  this  venerable  and  powerful  lady,  the 
quantity  taken  out  being  supplied  from  the  next  eldest 
cask,  which  is  also  extremely  old,  though  not  equal  to 
the  mother. 

The  ancient  Greeks  set  a  great  value  on  the  vine, 
and  made  a  god  of  the  Indian  conqueror,  Bacchus, 
who  was  said  to  have  introduced  it  to  them.  They 
represented  him  with  a  crown  of  vine  leaves,  and 
honoured  him  as  much  as  Ceres,  the  goddess  of  corn, 
but  there  was  much  frightful  evil  in  their  worship  of 
him,  for  they  had  feasts  named  Bacchanalia,  where, 
calling  intoxication  a  sacred  frenzy,  they  ran  about 
committing  every  sort  of  wild  and  extravagant  action. 

We  look  upon  the  vine  with  great  honour,  and  with 
better  reason.  We  do  not  value  it  only  for  its  grace 
and  beauty,  and  for  the  precious  fruit  it  bears,  though 
even  in  this  way  we  own  in  it  one  of  God’s  best  gifts. 
That  Judea  was  a  land  of  vines — a  land  of  plenty,  of 
corn  and  wine — a  land  where  a  man  might  dwell  beneath 
his  own  vine — where  the  grapes  were  such  as  the  spies 
brought  to  Moses — all  this  we  are  told  to  show  how 
choice  a  land  she  was  in  her  prosperity,  ere  she  was 


CURRANTS  AND  CLIMBERS. 


143 


blighted  by  the  curse  of  her  children’s  wickedness. 
When  also  Jacob  wished  to  heap  to  the  utmost,  so  that 
the  power  of  language  seemed  to  fail  him,  the  blessings 
of  heaven  upon  the  crown  of  the  head  of  him  that  was 
separate  from  his  brethren,  he  called  him  a  fruitful 
bough — “  a  fruitful  bough  by  a  well.”  The  wife  of  the 
good  man  in  the  Psalm  is  “  as  the  fruitful  vine,”  and, 
all  through  the  Old  Testament,  the  vine  stands  first  for 
beauty  and  value. 

The  chosen  people  themselves  were  the  vineyard  of 
the  Lord  of  Hosts — He  brought  them  from  Egypt,  cast 
out  the  heathen,  and  planted  them,  hedged  them  about 
with  His  presence,  and  looked  for  them  to  bring  forth 
fruits.  But,  alas !  what  did  they  bring  forth  ?  And, 
therefore,  the  hedge  was  broken  down,  and  the  degene¬ 
rate  vine  is  rooted  up  by  the  wild  boar  out  of  the  forest ! 
Nay,  He  was  cast  out  of  the  vineyard  and  slain,  when 
He  came  to  His  own,  seeking  fruit,  and  finding  none  ; 
He  hath  trodden  the  wine-press  in  His  wrath,  and  hath 
avenged  the  honour  of  His  Name. 

And  hath  He  not  planted  another  vine  in  a  very 
fruitful  hill?  Yea,  hath  He  not  even  declared  that  He 
Himself  is  that  very  Vine,  the  Branch  of  the  stem  of 
Jesse,  the  true  faithful  bough,  once  sorely  wounded  ; 
and  are  not  we  the  branches  of  a  wild  stock,  grafted 
in  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  the  sap  which  sustains  the 
whole  ?  Oh  !  let  us  fear  either  not  to  bring  forth  fruit 
at  all,  or  wild  fruit,  such  as  an  ungrafted  wild  nature 
might  bear  ;  let  us  strive  with  all  our  might  to  bring 
forth  precious  fruit,  of  love,  joy,  and  peace  ;  and  let  us 
bear  it  with  patience,  should  the  Husbandman  prune 
the  branches  that  they  may  bring  forth  more  fruit. 
“  Even  from  the  flower  till  the  grape  is  ripe,”  let  us 
seek  to  make  our  fruit  precious  by  following  after  the 


144 


TIIE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


true  wisdom,  for  let  us  remember  that  Pie  who  sought 
the  vintage  from  Judea  will  seek  it  again,  and  that 
even  more  terrible  will  Pie  appear  in  His  dyed  gar¬ 
ments,  red  in  His  apparel,  when  He  shall  come  again 
to  tread  the  wine-press  alone,  and  to  trample  His  ene¬ 
mies  in  His  fury. 

Yet  it  is  not  only  by  a  similitude  that  the  vine  is  the 
most  honoured  of  plants,  high  as  is  that  similitude.  It 
shares  with  corn  in  the  highest  honour  of  all,  one  of 
which  I  scarcely  feel  willing  to  write,  lest  you  should 
not  read  with  reverence.  So  I  will  leave  off  here,  only 
putting  you  in  mind  that  when  you  hear  of  corn  and 
wine,  or  see  carved  out  in  wood  or  stone,  wreaths  of 
wheat  ears  and  vine  leaves,  it  often  means  more  than 
the  mere  token  of  temporal  plenty  and  prosperity,  and 
may  put  us  in  mind  of  the  true  sustenance  of  the  life 
of  a  Christian  soul. 


CHAPTER  XYIPL 

CLASS  V. — THE  ELM  TREE. 

In  the  fifth  class,  we  shall  find  the  second  in  rank 
among  our  English  trees,  the  noble  spreading  elm. 

It  will  be  a  good  opportunity  for  telling  you  a  little 
about  the  wonders  of  the  construction  of  trees,  and 
indeed  of  almost  all  plants  with  woody  stems.  I  sup¬ 
pose  you  would  tell  me  that  the  trunk  of  a  tree  consists 
of  only  two  parts,  the  wood,  namely,  and  its  rough 
great  coat,  the  bark.  And  this  is  in  some  sense  true, 
as  we  might  say  that  we  have  flesh,  covered  with  skin, 
but  our  flesh  is  full  of  numerous  little  vessels,  and 
minute  parts ;  and  in  the  same  way  the  wood  of  the 


THE  ELM  TREE. 


145 


tree  is  of  far  more  wonderful  structure  than  you  or  I 
should  ever  have  guessed. 

In  the  first  place,  recollect  how  the  end  of  a  stick 
looks  when  freshly  cut  and  polished  off  very  smoothly, 
as  boys  like  to  do  when  they  have  a  good  sharp  knife. 
There  is  a  little  pale  spot  in  the  middle,  which,  by  the 
help  of  a  magnifying  glass,  is  shown  to  be  of  a  soft 
spongy  substance.  This  is  the  pith,  and  it  serves  to 
nourish  the  infant  leaves,  when  they  have  not  yet 
broken  from  their  hard  coverings,  and  are  too  young  to 
obtain  their  support  from  the  air  and  moisture. 

Outside  the  pith  is  the  wood,  which  is  arranged  in 
rings,  one  without  the  other.  These  rings  grow  darker 
towards  the  centre ;  and  the  inner  and  darker  ones  are 
called  the  heart- wood,  while  the  outer  ones  are  called 
the  sap-wood.  The  age  of  the  tree  is  reckoned  by  the 
number  of  the  rings,  as  it  forms  a  fresh  circle  of  sap- 
wood  every  year,  and  at  the  same  time  the  innermost 
ring  of  the  sap-wood  turns  into  heart-wood. 

This  heart-wood  is  the  main  strength  and  firmness 
of  the  tree ;  the  sap-wood  that  which  carries  on  the 
business  of  life,  for  through  it  the  sap  rises  in  the 
spring  to  support  the  buds  and  leaves.  Through  it,  I 
say,  for  both  kinds  of  wood  are,  in  fact,  composed  of 
an  infinity  of  very  small  tubes  or  pipes,  through  the 
hollow  of  which  the  sap  mounts  in  the  outer  rings,  while 
the  inner  ones  are  filled  with  a  hard  solid  substance, 
which  was  originally  formed  in  the  leaves. 

Across  the  wood  you  may  see  a  number  of  little 
pale  fine  lines,  diverging  from  the  centre,  not  regularly, 
but  interrupted  and  broken.  Perhaps  they  are  most 
distinct  in  the  oak-tree.  These  are  called  the  medullary 
rays,  that  is,  the  rays  of  marrow,  and  serve  to  conduct 
to  the  centre  of  the  stem  the  sap  which  has  mounted 

10 


146 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


through  the  sap-wood,  which  having  travelled  out  to 
the  ends  of  the  leaves,  descends  through  the  bark. 

This  is  a  long  account,  but  it  is  so  wonderful  that  it 
would  be  a  pity  not  in  some  degree  to  enter  into  it,  so 
I  will  just  tell  it  to  you  once  more,  so  as  to  show  you 
how  the  sap  of  a  tree  has  a  circulation  like  that  of  the 
blood  in  our  bodies. 

First,  it  is  sucked  in  from  the  earth  by  the  roots  ; 
then  it  mounts  through  the  hollow  tubes  of  the  sap- 
wood,  which  conduct  it  to  the  extreme  end  of  every 
branch  and  twig ;  then  it  turns  and  comes  back  again, 
together  with  the  food  the  leaves  have  been  gathering 
from  the  air  and  rain,  through  the  vessels  of  the  bark, 
parting  on  the  way  with  some  portion  which  goes 
through  the  medullary  rays  to  feed  the  pith,  and  till  up 
the  tubes  of  the  solid  heart-wood  in  the  middle.  So 
you  see  that  every  branch  of  the  tree  derives  its  sup¬ 
port  from  its  union  with  the  rest,  and  you  know  of 
what  that  should  remind  us.  We  hear  of  sap  rising  in 
the  spring,  the  time  chosen  for  felling  trees,  because 
the  quantity  of  moisture  makes  it  easier  to  strip  off  the 
bark.  Now,  the  sap  is  always  present;  but  as  soon  as 
warm  weather  comes,  and  the  buds  swell,  they  call  for 
more  to  feed  them,  and  what  was  at  rest  in  the 
branches  flows  into  them ;  the  branches  demand  a  sup¬ 
ply  from  the  sap-wood,  the  sap-wood  draws  upon  the 
root,  and  by-and-bye,  the  whole  begins  to  return  by 
way  of  the  bark.  Cold  will  check  all  this,  and  it  used 
to  be  thought  that  the  sap  went  up  by  the  bark,  and 
down  by  the  wood,  but  this  has  been  shown  to  be 
wrong.  A  French  botanist,  in  order  to  make  sure,  in 
the  midst  of  a  sudden  frost,  cut  down  a  large  poplar,  a 
yard  from  the  ground,  and  found  the  stump  dry,  while 
the  upper  part  dropped  with  sap ;  another  rising  takes 


THE  ELM  TREE. 


147 


place  to  feed  the  midsummer  shoot,  which  brightens 
the  foliage  in  middle  age,  with  tender  red  and  green. 

When  a  tree  growls  old,  decay  generally  begins 
from  within,  but  as  the  circulation  chiefly  depends  on 
the  outer  portions,  we  often  see  hollow  trees  with 
plenty  of  green  leaves,  though  they  have  so  little  sap- 
wood,  or  wood  of  any  kind,  that  it  is  hard  to  guess 
how  they  stand  at  all.  What  famous  play-places  for 
children  those  hollow  trees  make,  and  what  capital 
nests  do  the  owls  and  woodpeckers  find  in  them  !  An 
old  hollow  tree  is  apt  to  be  a  perfect  store-house  of  de¬ 
lights  for  lovers  of  insects,  and  lovers  of  birds,  and 
lovers  of  mosses  and  lichens,  aye,  and  for  lovers  of 
merry  children  too,  who  like  to  hear  the  screams  of 
good-humoured  play,  as  the  small  people  jump  out  of 
their  hiding-place,  or  make  the  smooth  inside  a  castle 
or  cottage,  peculiarly  their  own,  for  enjoying  their  own 
little  secrets,  and  keeping  their  hoards  of  pretty  stones 
and  pebbles. 

You  can  now  perceive  why  it  is  so  important  in  car¬ 
pentering,  to  cut  the  wood  the  right  way,  lengthways, 
that  is  to  say,  so  as  to  break  into  as  few  as  possible  of 
the  little  tubes.  If  cut  the  cross  way,  all  the  tops  of  the 
tubes  would  be  cut  open,  and  laid  bare,  so  as  to  let  the 
minute  drops  of  damp  trickle  into  them,  and  cause 
decay  ;  besides,  it  is  much  smoother  to  go  along  with  the 
tubes.  The  grain  of  the  wood,  and  the  different  pat¬ 
terns  on  boards,  are  caused  by  the  rings  of  the  heart- 
wood,  the  larger  ones  being  innermost,  and  nearest  the 
centre. 

Now,  then,  for  the  elm  itself. 

In  March  and  April  you  may  see  its  branches  thickly 
covered  with  clusters  of  small  dark  brown  blossoms, 
and  when  you  can  get  a  near  view  of  them,  you  will 


148 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


find  that  these  are  small  greenish  brown  cups,  containing 
five  red  stamens  and  two  styles,  growing  out  of  a  little 
round  germ  ;  but  the  seed  is  not  apt  to  ripen,  and  the 
tree  usually  propagates  itself  by  throwing  up  suckers 
from  the  root. 

The  leaves  are  small,  egg-shaped,  and  serrated,  the 
bark  rough,  though  of  a  finer  grain  than  the  oak,  and 
less  apt  to  be  overgrown  with  moss  and  lichen.  The 
wood  is  not  so  hard  nor  so  enduring  as  oak,  and  though 
it  is  very  useful  for  many  purposes,  the  especial  value 
of  the  tree  is  rather  in  its  life-time,  than  after  it  is  cut 
down.  I  low  delightful  is  the  cool  shade  of  a  lane  shut 
in  on  either  side  with  hedge-row  elms,  those  firm 
grand  arms  of  theirs  reaching  out  and  embracing,  far 
over  head — hedge-row  elms,  I  mean,  allowed  to  grow 
to  their  proper  form  and  beauty,  not  trimmed  close, 
and  deprived  of  all  their  fine  long  branches,  as  they 
are  in  some  of  our  counties,  where  they  look  more  like 
tall  Jacks-in-tlie-Green,  than  like  the  fair  spreading 
elmin  tree. 

Or  think  of  a  church-yard  bordered  round  with  elms, 
casting  their  quiet  shadow  on  the  graves  around,  and 
perhaps  over  a  clear  streamlet,  fencing  it  in  on  one 
side,  and  dividing  it  from  the  fresh  green  meadows 
beyond,  the  sun -light  making  its  way  through  the  thick 
leaves,  and  falling  in  patches  on  the  grass  and  water, 
and  the  old  grey  walls  of  the  church,  and  quivering 
and  moving  about  so  pleasantly  when  the  wind  shakes 
the  branches.  What  a  fair  peaceful  spot  it  is !  closed 
in  from  all  the  world,  and  those  noble  trees  making  a 
sort  of  outer  church,  with  pillars  and  arches,  where  the 
thoughts  of  the  living  may  be  sobered,  and  where  the 
dead  rest  within  the  shadow  of  the  church. 

Or  how  pleasant  it  is  to  see  some  park,  the  green- 


THE  ELM  TREE. 


149 


sward  shaded  by  tall  elms,  in  threes,  or  pairs, 
sheltering  the  cattle  on  hot  sunny  days,  and  in  early 
spring  loaded  with  the  multitudinous  nests  of  noisy 
rooks.  Rooks  like  elms  much  better  than  any  other 
tree,  and  their  black  satin  coats  and  hoarse  chattering 
voices  seldom  fail  where  these  trees  are  numerous,  as 
in  the  spring  they  fight  over  the  sticks  they  carry  to 
build  their  nests.  In  the  summer  they  teach  their  black 
children  to  fly,  before  they  can  feed  themselves,  and  in 
autumn  and  winter  fly  circling  round  and  round  in  the 
air  collecting  for  an  evening  assembly,  and  evidently 
having  a  friendly  conversation  on  the  best  fields  for 
grubs  and  chaffers,  before  going  to  roost,  like  large 
black  fruit  on  the  elm  trees. 

Grandest  and  best  of  all  is  the  elm  tree,  when  it 
stands  alone  in  its  pride,  its  magnificent  trunk  rising 
like  a  column,  and  stretching  out  its  protecting  arms 
all  round,  like  a  monarch  in  charge  of  the  country. 
Elm  trees  grow  very  fast,  but  they  live  very  long,  and 
some  of  these  fine  single  elms  are  recorded  to  be  of 
a  great  age.  There  was  one  at  Gisors,  on  the  frontier 
of  Normandy,  where  the  kings  of  France  and  dukes  of 
Normandy  used  to  hold  conferences  together,  and 
which  was  large  enough  to  shelter  both  their  trains. 
It  was  more  than  two  hundred  years  old  when  it  was 
cut  down  by  King  Philippe  Auguste,  out  of  hatred  to 
our  Plantagenet  kings.  At  the  first  French  revolution, 
a  great  many  fine  old  elms  were  cut  down,  which  bore 
the  name  of  King  Henri  IV.  (who  died  in  the  year 
1610.)  He  had  planted  many  with  his  own  hand,  and 
had  recommended  the  planting  of  many  others  round 
church-yards,  and  to  form  avenues  at  the  entrance  of 
towns. 

The  first  elm-trees  in  Spain  were  taken  thither 


150 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


from  England  by  Philip  II.,  who  planted  them  near 
his  palace  of  the  Escurial ;  and  at  the  beautiful 
Moorish  Grenada,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  glowing 
sunshine  and  southern  beauty,  the  English  traveller  is 
surprised  to  find  himself  in  an  alley  of  over-arching 
elms,  green  and  shady  as  those  in  the  lanes  of  his  own 
home. 

Queen  Elizabeth  was  a  planter  of  trees,  and  the 
oldest  elm  known  to  exist  in  England  is  a  stump  at 
Richmond,  now  fenced  in  and  covered  with  ivy,  which 
was  planted  by  her  hand,  and  therefore  has  always 
been  known  by  the  name  of  the  Queen’s  elm. 

The  most  interesting  of  all  our  English  elms  is,  how¬ 
ever,  one  which  still  stands  near  the  entrance  to  the 
passage  leading  to  Spring  Gardens,  for  it  is  that  one  on 
which  King  Charles  looked  as  he  was  going  to  his  mar¬ 
tyrdom,  saying,  “  That  tree  was  planted  by  my  brother 
Henry,”  that  brother,  the  remembrance  of  whose  boyish 
days  might  well 

“  Haunt  him  in  no  vexing  mood, 

When  all  the  cares  of  life  were  over.” 

There  is  another  kind  of  English  elm  with  broader 
leaves,  called  the  Wych  elm,  and  another  sort  proper 
only  to  Scotland,  where  our  English  elm  was  not 
known  till  after  the  union  of  the  two  kingdoms. 


351 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CLASS  V. — UMBRELLA  FLOWERS. 

The  next  family  of  tlie  great  fifth  class  are  the  umbrella 
carriers,  or  umbelliferous  plants,  so  called  from  the 
Latin  word  lwibella,  an  umbel,  or  little  shade. 

They  are  not,  however,  by  any  means  the  most  shady 
of  the  vegetable  tribe,  for  few  are  of  any  great  height 
or  size,  and  their  leaves  are  so  deeply  cut  and  carved, 
so  slender  and  so  branching,  that  even  a  parasol-ant 
would  hardly  be  sheltered  under  one.  They  have 
nothing  of  the  umbrella  but  the  spokes. 

First,  there  rises  from  the  ground  one  tall  straight 
stem,  often  hollow,  and  sometimes  either  ribbed, 
curiously  spotted,  or  covered  with  hairs.  The  leaves, 
spreading  and  elaborately  pinnate,  grow  for  the  most 
part  close  to  the  root,  and  a  few  more  grow  at  the  joints 
of  the  stem. 

Each  stem  is  terminated  by  an  umbel,  that  is  to  say, 
five,  six,  seven,  or  eight  little  slender  branches,  all 
growing  out  from  it,  as  their  common  centre,  and  all  of 
equal  length,  like  the  ribs  of  a  fan.  From  each  of  these 
there  springs  a  second  set  of  lesser  spokes,  each  of 
which  bears  a  small  flower,  with  five  petals,  five  sta¬ 
mens,  and  two  pistils. 

These  flowers  are  usually  white,  yellow,  or  green, 
and  so  much  alike  are  the  plants  of  the  tribe,  in  general 
appearance,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  distinguish  one  from 
the  other.  Almost  all  have  an  oval  fruit,  which  splits 
into  two  halves  when  ripe,  and  becomes  brown.  The 


152 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


prettiest  seed  among  them  is  that  of  the  shepherd’s 
needle,  a  low  plant,  which  you  may  easily  find  among 
the  corn,  with  some  of  its  umbels  still  bearing  white 
flowers,  whilst  others  stretch  out  the  long  sharp- 
pointed  beaks  of  their  seeds,  from  which  they  have 
taken  the  name  of  Shepherd’s  Needle,  or  Venus’s 
Comb. 

Umbelliferous  plants  usually  are  found  in  temperate 
climates,  and,  strangely  enough,  they  are  in  most  cases 
unwholesome  in  their  native  state,  though,  when  culti¬ 
vated,  they  become  very  valuable  vegetables.  Carrot, 
fennel,  parsley,  and  celery,  all  have  wild  brothers,  which 
it  would  be  very  dangerous  to  eat,  and  even  our  garden 
celery  is  only  made  wholesome  by  being  kept  in  the 
dark,  half-buried  in  the  earth,  which,  though  it  makes 
it  very  pale  and  yellow  for  want  of  the  light  of  the  sun, 
deprives  it  at  the  same  time  of  its  poisonous  qualities. 

Carrots  have  by  diligent  cultivation  been  brought  to 
be  those  large  bright  orange-coloured  roots  which  look 
so  tempting  when  sliced  into  broth.  Their  leaves,  too, 
are  remarkably  pretty,  and  in  the  days  of  the  shops,  of 
which  I  told  you  before,  the  carrot-bed  was  our  best 
warehouse  for  silk  dresses,  as  the  variety  of  colours, 
purple,  crimson,  scarlet,  yellow,  and  green,  all  blended 
together,  was  such  as  no  other  plant  furnished. 

Caraway  seeds,  which  we  find  in  seed-cakes,  belong 
to  an  umbelliferous  plant ;  and  that  best  of  sweetmeats, 
angelica,  is  made  from  the  stem  of  another,  which  grows 
in  Avet  places. 

Earth-nuts,  Avhich  all  country  children  are  perpetually 
seeking  in  vain,  lured  on  by  the  legend  of  some  older 
cousin,  who  once  dug  up  a  beauty,  are  the  tubers  be¬ 
longing  to  a  very  pretty  umbelliferous  plant,  with  star- 
like  blossoms,  and  delicate  leaves,  and  a  fibrous  root, 


UMBRELLA  FLOWERS. 


153 


with  a  tuber  that  unskilled  hands  generally  leave 
behind. 

Hogweed  has  rough  hairy  pinnate  leaves  that  chil¬ 
dren  often  bring  home  from  the  hedges  to  delight  the 
pig  with,  and  late  in  the  year  it  bears  large  umbels,  so 
thick  and  close  that  they  make  quite  hollow  cups. 

Cow-parsley  is  a  delicate  pretty  plant,  and  its  purple 
stem  in  early  spring,  fluted  like  a  pencil-case,  and 
covered  with  small  white  hairs,  is  one  of  the  most  beau¬ 
tiful  of  unregarded  common  things. 

The  largest  of  the  tribe  that  is  common  among  us,  is 
the  tall  poisonous  hemlock,  whose  ribbed  and  spotted 
stem  is  so  well  known  to  village  boys,  as  being  capable 
of  being  made  into  a  sort  of  musical  instrument,  for  the 
perpetrating  of  horrible  noises,  causing  great  exertion 
to  themselves,  and  making  their  sisters  stop  their  ears 
and  run  away.  An  immense  kind,  called  the  chandelier 
hemlock,  has  lately  been  brought  to  our  gardens  from 
America.  It  is  like  the  common  sort  seen  through  a 
magnifier ;  it  is  to  common  hemlocks,  what  the  Missis¬ 
sippi  is  to  other  rivers. 

The  gout-weed  has  handsome  dark  green  smooth 
leaves,  and  a  creeping  root,  very  hard  to  turn  out  when 
once  it  has  made  its  w^ay  into  a  garden.  It  used  to 
prevail  to  a  great  extent  in  my  own  little  nook  of  a 
garden,  and  no  wonder,  as  you  will  say,  when  you  hear 
the  way  I  managed  it,  which  was  so  silly  that  I  can 
hardly  believe  any  child  could  have  thought  of  it. 

“  Mamma,  I  am  going  to  give  up  half  my  garden  to 
that  weed,  and  see  if  it  will  not  be  contented  with 
that.” 

Well,  I  was  a  bad  gardener  ;  but  it  wall  be  well  for 
us  if  we  do  not  treat  the  gardens  within  in  the  same 
fashion,  by  letting  some  one  fault  go  on  unchecked,  for 


154 


TP1R  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


it  will  as  surely  eat  up  and  ruin  our  hearts  as  the  gout- 
weed  did  my  poor  little  piece  of  ground. 

The  sanicle,  a  curious  plant  growing  in  woods,  has 
umbel-forming  little  balls  of  brownish  white  flowers, 
and  is  the  last  of  the  tribe  that  seems  to  be  worth 
noticing. 

Perhaps  you  may  be  inclined  to  think  that  there  are 
some  umbellate  flowers  besides  wliat  I  have  described, 
growing  on  trees  and  shrubs,  such  as  the  elder  and  the 
laurustinus  ;  but  here  you  would  not  be  right,  as  the 
cyme,  or  flat  cluster,  in  which  their  blossoms  grow,  is 
irregularly  branched,  not  in  distinct  circles  of  spokes 
like  an  umbel.  Besides,  they  have  three  stigmas  in¬ 
stead  of  only  two,  and  their  fruit  is  a  single  hard  seed, 
enclosed  in  a  berry. 

Elder  blossoms  are  delicious  in  smell,  as  you  pass 
along  some  shady  lane,  where  they  raise  those  fine 
broad  flat  cymes,  valued  by  the  makers  of  elder-flower 
water,  and  afterwards  bearing  dark  rich  purple  berries, 
so  useful  for  making  elder- wine  ;  while  little  boys  have 
scarcely  less  liking  for  the  tree,  the  branches  of  which 
may  furnish  them  with  pop-guns,  when  they  have 
pushed  out  the  soft  pith.  This  pith  is  so  large  that  we 
have  a  good  opportunity  of  seeing  in  it  what  plants  are 
made  of.  If  you  look  at  a  thin  slice  of  it,  or  at  the 
pith  of  a  rush  in  a  magnifier,  you  will  see  that  they  are 
something  like  a  honeycomb,  divided  into  six-sided 
compartments  or  cells.  These  cells,  tiny  as  they  are, 
are  larger  in  the  elder  pith  than  in  almost  any  other 
plant,  for  they  are  found  in  every  vegetable  that  grows, 
in  stalk,  leaf,  and  blossom ;  the  whole  is  a  tissue  of 
these  minute  cells,  formed  of  a  thin  skin,  or  membrane, 
colourless  itself,  but  holding  in  each  cell  a  drop  or 
grain,  green,  red,  blue,  or  whatever  may  be  the  colour 


UMBRELLA  FLOWERS. 


155 


we  see  in  flower  or  leaf.  How  beautifully  arranged 
these  little  cases  must  be,  to  give  the  delicate  shading  in 
one  flower,  and  the  sharply-defined  tints  in  another — a 
blush  rose,  and  a  tulip  for  instance !  It  is  the  white 
shining  membrane  through  which  we  see  the  colour, 
that  makes  flowers  have  their  satiny  polished  look,  and 
indeed  that  polished  surface  is  of  great  use  in  turning 
off  wet,  being  such  that  dirt  cannot  stick  to  it.  In¬ 
side  the  petals  the  colour  is  generally  liquid  ;  in  the 
leaves  there  is  a  little  grain  in  each  cell,  lying  in  the 
midst  of  a  green  liquid,  which  dries  up  as  autumn 
comes,  while  the  grain  turns  yellow,  red,  or  brown. 

A  good  deal  like  the  elder  in  appearance,  are  the 
white  blossoms  of  the  wayfaring  tree,  so  called  because 
it  grows  by  road-sides,  and  cheers  the  eye  of  the  dusty 
traveller.  It  has  large  ribbed  leaves  covered  with  short 
white  cotton,  and  its  berries  when  half  ripe  are  most 
beautiful,  being  a  pale  waxy  yellow,  shaded  on  one 
side  with  deepening  red.  Of  a  blight  clear  scarlet  are 
the  berries  of  the  pretty  wild  Guelder  rose,  which 
blossoms  in  a  very  peculiar  manner.  All  the  outermost 
flowers  in  the  cyme  are  large,  and  of  a  much  brighter 
white  than  those  within ;  but  on  examination,  you  will 
find  that  they  contain  no  stamens  or  pistil,  and  only 
serve  as  an  ornamental  border  to  the  smaller  flowers 
within,  which  are  perfect  in  all  their  parts.  The  Guel¬ 
der  rose,  cultivated  in  shrubberies,  and  called  by  chil¬ 
dren  the  snow-ball  tree,  bears  nothing  but  these  im¬ 
perfect  flowers,  which,  instead  of  being  merely  an 
edging,  occupy  every  branch  of  the  cyme,  and  form 
those  beautiful  white  globes,  so  brightly  white  and  so 
soft.  Most  delightful  playthings  are  those  summer 
snow-balls,  coming  with  Whitsuntide,  and  joined  in  all 
our  pleasant  remembrances  of  May  and  J  une,  and  long 


156 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


warm  evenings,  when  they  look  so  white  and  moon-like 
in  the  midst  of  the  dark  foliage  of  some  shady  path. 
The  snow-ball  tree  is  said  to  have  been  first  brought 
from  Flanders,  and  to  have  taken  the  name  of  Guelder 
rose  from  the  Duchy  of  Gueldres. 

Laurustinus,  gay  even  in  winter,  with  evergreen 
leaves,  pink  buds,  and  white  blossoms,  is  a  native  of 
the  south  of  Europe  and  north  of  Africa.  The  blossom 
and  manner  of  growth  of  the  pretty  white  snowberry  a 
good  deal  resembles  these,  though  it  has  but  one  style, 
and  its  little  pink  flowers  grow  in  pairs  instead  of  cymes. 
It  came  originally  from  Canada,  but  it  likes  our  climate 
so  well,  and  has  been  planted  in  so  many  woods  for 
pheasants  to  eat,  that  it  may  soon  be  looked  upon  as 
being  naturalized  among  us. 

Next  follow  a  race  not  very  pretty  to  look  at,  though 
all  of  them  are  wholesome,  and  some  really  valuable. 
These  are  the  goosefoot  family,  with  their  tall  spikes 
of  small  green  blossoms,  all  possessing  five  stamens  and 
two  pistils,  and  large  coarse  spreading  leaves.  There 
are  many  of  them  growing  wild  in  England,  the  largest 
of  which  was  once  much  valued  and  eaten  as  an  excellent 
and  nourishing  article  of  food.  You  may  find  it  growing 
on  most  old  dunghills  and  heaps  of  rubbish,  and  may 
know  it  by  the  bright  pink  colour  of  the  lower  part  of  the 
stem.  Its  old  names  were  “  fat  hen,”  or  “  Good  King 
Henry  after  which  King  Henry  I  cannot  tell,  though  I 
had  rather  call  King  Henry  VI.  “  good,”  than  any  of  the 
other  seven.  One  kind,  however,  is  still  favoured  by 
being  grown  in  gardens,  and  that  is  the  spinach,  which 
makes  such  a  pretty  dark  green  ground  for  poached  eggs 
to  repose  upon.  Of  the  same  family  is  the  beet,  the  root 
of  the  most  beautiful  colour  that  ever  comes  in  our  way, 
so  fine  is  the  deep  rich  red  of  those  concentric  rings,  in 


UMBRELLA  FLOWERS. 


157 


the  midst  of  their  clear  pink  juice ;  and  another  of  the 
same  tribe  is  the  great  mangel-wurzel,  a  German  name, 
which  signifies  “  root  of  scarcity.” 

This  very  large  class,  V.,  is  nearly  finished,  and  I 
dare  say  you  are  tired  of  hearing  of  it ;  yet  I  must  not 
miss  telling  you  of  the  thrift,  which  makes  so  neat  a 
border  for  cottage  flower-beds,  and  is  such  a  lover  of 
salt,  that  it  grows  equally  well  on  the  rocks  by  the  sea¬ 
side,  and  all  round  the  salt-mines  of  Cheshire,  so  that 
if  you  wish  to  oblige  it  very  much,  and  make  it  give 
you  plenty  of  its  pale  pink  blossoms,  you  must  now  and 
then  afford  it  a  little  salt.  It  has  five  pistils,  as  well  as 
five  stamens  ;  and  so  also  has  that  pretty  pale  blue  flower, 
flax,  of  which  you  no  doubt  have  read  a  great  deal  when 
learning  the  history  of  linen ;  so  I  shall  say  no  more 
about  it,  except  that  there  is  a  tiny  sort  of  flax,  with 
a  little  delicate  white  bell,  like  a  lily,  which  grows  in 
the  driest  parts  of  heaths  and  moors. 

Last  of  all  comes  that  very  strange  plant,  the  sun¬ 
dew,  a  great  lover  of  bogs,  but  very  well  worth  pursuing 
into  them,  though  you  must  be  an  early  riser  indeed,  if 
you  wish  to  see  its  white  blossoms  open,  for  they  never 
expand  except  just  at  sunrise,  and  shut  up  again  im¬ 
mediately  after  it.  Yet  they  and  their  six  pistils  are 
not  the  strangest  part  of  the  plant.  Look  at  its  leaves, 
round  green  things,  widening  out  from  a  red  stem,  the 
shape  of  a  battledore,  and  covered  with  red  hairs,  and 
on  these  red  hairs,  however  hot  the  sun  may  be,  there 
is  always  what  looks  like  a  pearl  of  dew,  retained  there 
since  the  morning.  It  is  not,  however,  a  real  drop  of 
dew,  it  is  viscid  or  sticky,  as  you  will  find  on  touching 
it,  and  it  exudes  from  the  plant.  Sometimes  small 
insects  may  be  found  glued  to  the  leaves  by  this  drop 
of  dew,  and  some  persons  think  that  the  plant  lives 


158 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


on  their  juices,  and  that  the  leaves  act  as  a  sort  of  trap 
to  catch  them  for  it.  I  do  not  much  like  the  idea  of 
this  pretty  flower  being  so  like  a  beast  of  prey,  in  its 
own  small  way,  and  I  had  rather  believe  that  the 
little  flies  entangled  themselves  by  chance,  and  then 
could  not  escape. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CLASS  VI. — LILIES  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 

It  is  pleasant  to  have  to  come  at  last  to  considering  the 
Lilies  of  the  Field,  how  they  grow  in  their  beauty,  and 
the  glory  of  their  raiment. 

Most  fair,  and  pure,  and  regal  of  all,  stands  the 
great  white  lily, 

“  The  Lily  flower, 

With  blessed  Mary  seen,” 

which  in  pictures  of  the  Annunciation  is  always  drawn 
in  the  hand  of  the  angel.  There  is  nothing  more 
purely  white  than  the  petals  of  this  lily,  not  fragile  and 
fading  at  a  touch,  like  that  other  delicate  thing,  the  con¬ 
volvulus,  but  firm  and  steadfast,  retaining  their  white¬ 
ness  unsullied  to  the  last.  How  exquisitely  do  the 
grand,  queen-like  flowers  stand  out  from  the  tall  stem, 
feathered  upwards  with  narrow  leaflets,  and  crowned 
with  half-opened  flowers,  and  tapering  buds.  Very 
handsome,  too,  are  the  six  long  stamens,  bearing  their 
caskets  of  gold  dust,  as  if  waiting  on  the  graceful  bend¬ 
ing  pistil  in  the  midst,  all  shut  within  those  superb 
white  petals.  It  is  truly  the  queen  of  our  gardens,  and 
when  we  know  that  its  native  home  is  the  Holy  Land, 
we  may  please  ourselves  with  thinking  that  it  may  have 


LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 


159 


been  the  very  flower  of  which  our  blessed  Lord  spoke, 
when  lie  said  that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not 
arrayed  like  one  of  these.  No  raiment,  indeed,  that 
ever  was  spun  or  woven,  can  be  as  one  of  these,  no¬ 
thing  can  ever  be  so  lovely  save  the  robes,  unseen  by  us, 
in  which  each  heir  of  our  royal  birth  is  arrayed  when 
carried  from  the  Font.  Those  are  the  only  robes  for 
which  we  need  take  thought,  and  oh  1  how  much 
thought ! 

White  lilies  are  freely  given  to  us  with  all  their  store 
of  precious  thoughts.  They  spread  fast,  they  care  little 
for  cold  or  heat,  they  flourish  in  cottage  gardens  or 
smoky  towns,  and  they  live  so  long  in  water,  that  a  sick 
room  may  often  be  cheered  by  their  loveliness.  I  told 
you  there  was  a  confusion  between  the  lily  and  fleur- 
de-lis,  and  so,  though  it  is  the  iris  that  is  found  in  the 
French  coat-of-arms,  the  white  lily  is  the  especial 
flower  of  the  royal  line  of  France.  It  was  scattered  on 
their  path  when  they  returned  after  the  great  Revolu¬ 
tion,  and  the  name  of  the  white  lily  still  thrills  the 
hearts  of  those  who  cling  to  the  old  faith  and  loyalty. 

Some  people  think  white  lilies  useful  as  well  as  beau¬ 
tiful  ;  indeed,  I  dare  say  many  of  us  can  remember 
getting  some  hard  knock  or  bruise,  and  how  the  useful 
person  of  the  family,  who  is  always  nurse,  doctor,  and 
healer  of  cuts,  came  out  with  her  bottle  of  white  lily 
leaves  preserved  in  brandy,  and  though  they  did  make 
the  hurt  smart,  she  comforted  us  so  kindly  that  we 
could  not  help  being  cheered  up. 

I  believe  the  Tiger  Lily,  with  its  orange  petals,  and 
their  black  spots,  also  comes  from  the  Levant.  The 
Turk’s  cap  is  so  called,  because  its  petals  turn  back¬ 
wards  into  a  round  form,  and,  together  with  the 
stamens,  look  very  like  the  pictures  of  Eastern  princes, 


160 


THE  IIEItB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


be-tnrbaned  and  be-plumed,  just  what  would  suit  Blue 
Beard.  Its  home  is  in  Germany;  and  that  of  the 
brilliant  scarlet  Martagon,  is  Hungary.  There  are 
many  other  species  of  lily,  all  very  handsome,  for  the 
most  part  large,  and  all  without  any  calyx.  They  have 
bulbous  roots,  and,  indeed,  I  have  told  you  all  the 
general  features  of  the  whole  tribe  when  speaking  of 
the  snow-drop  and  daffodil,  so  I  will  only  mention  a 
few  of  the  most  noted  and  beautiful  kinds. 

The  Tulip  takes  care  not  to  be  forgotten.  Dressed 
in  its  gaily-painted  robes,  it  holds  nearly  the  same  place 
among  flowers,  as  the  peacock  among  birds,  and  always 
stands  as  an  emblem  of  conceit.  You  know  its  black 
stamens  and  its  great  triangular  pistil.  It  is  altered 
by  cultivation  from  a  small  species  which  grows  wild 
in  some  few  parts  of  England,  and  is  the  especial 
darling  of  the  Dutch,  who  sometimes  give  enormous 
prices  for  a  single  root.  There  is  a  story  of  a  sailor 
who,  while  waiting  in  a  merchant’s  office,  took  up  what 
he  thought  was  an  onion,  sliced  it  up  with  his  knife, 
and  ate  it.  Just  as  he  had  finished,  there  was  a  great 
search  for  something,  and  much  dismay  when  it  was 
missing ;  for  behold,  the  onion  he  had  eaten,  was  a 
precious  tulip,  the  price  of  which  would  have  bought 
his  ship  and  its  lading  twice  over !  Some  little  chil¬ 
dren  who  meddle  with  what  they  don’t  understand,  and 
what  does  not  belong  to  them,  may  do  just  as  much 
mischief. 

Very  like  the  tulip  is  the  delicate  bending,  drooping, 
fritillary,  chequered  with  purple  squares  like  a  chess¬ 
board,  or  a  snake’s  head ;  indeed,  it  is  sometimes 
called  the  snake  flower.  It  is  not  very  common  in 
England,  and  the  only  place  where  I  know  it  grows 
wild,  is  at  Oxford. 


THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 


161 


A  far  grander  flower  is  the  great  fritillary,  called 
the  crown  imperial ;  its  circlet  of  bells,  each  possessing 
six  drops  of  clear  nectar,  depending  gracefully  beneath 
the  crown  of  narrow  leaves,  making  it  a  magnificent 
plant ;  and  it  well  may  be  called  an  imperial  one, 
since  its  native  land  is  the  old  empire  of  Persia ;  then 
it  came  to  Constantinople ;  and  then  to  Vienna,  where 
it  grew  in  the  Emperor’s  garden  ;  and  thence  was  sent 
to  England — certainly  before  Queen  Elizabeth’s  time. 
As  soon  as  the  blossoms  fade,  the  stems  stiffen  and 
hold  up  their  heads,  so  as  to  keep  the  seed  from  falling 
out. 

Guernsey  lilies  are  very  grand,  beautiful  flowers. 
They  are  so  called,  because  a  ship  bringing  some  roots 
from  Japan  was  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  Guernsey, 
and  the  bulbs  buried  in  the  sand,  as  it  happened,  the 
very  best  soil  for  them,  and  there  the  beautiful  things 
grew  up  and  blossomed,  surprising  all  the  beholders. 

The  Belladonna  lily  sends  up  its  leaves  in  spring, 
and  its  stout  brown  stem  bearing  a  garland  of  deli¬ 
cately-shaded  pink -and- white  flowers  very  late  in  au¬ 
tumn.  The  whole  cluster  of  flowers  come  out  of  a 
sheath,  or  spatlie,  as  botanists  call  it ;  the  buds  are 
beautifully  shaped,  and  its  elegance,  and  fair  pink-and- 
wliite  complexion,  have  caused  its  Italian  name,  which 
means  “  fair  lady.”  It  is  a  native  of  the  Cape,  but 
it  is  quite  hardy,  and  ought  to  be  more  often  found  in 
English  gardens  than  it  is ;  pleasant  as  it  is  to  see  fair 
fresh  tapering  petals  looking  spring-like  in  the  midst 
of  the  frost  and  fog  of  November,  as,  unlike  most 
plants,  it  keeps  to  the  seasons  of  its  native  clime  in 
the  southern  hemisphere.  One  hint  I  would  give  to 
console  those  who  have  had  a  root  given  them,  and 
fancy  it  is  dead,  because  they  see  nothing  of  it :  our 

11 


162 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


fair  lady  dislikes  moving  so  much,  that  she  seldom 
shows  her  face  for  several  years,  till  she  has  recovered, 
and  has  had  plenty  of  time  to  settle  herself  in  her  new 
home. 

I  like  few  names  of  flowers  better  than  that  of  the 
Star  of  Bethlehem,  a  brilliant  white  star  in  truth, 
glancing  among  its  long  green  leaves,  and  well  fitted 
to  put  us  in  mind  of  the  Star  of  the  East.  It  is  an 
Eastern  star,  for  it  comes  from  Palestine,  and  though 
sometimes  found  wild  in  England,  it  is  probably  a  run¬ 
away  from  the  old  convent  gardens,  whither,  perhaps, 
it  was  brought,  with  its  name,  by  some  pilgrim  from 
the  Holy  Land. 

I  am  not  fond  of  keeping  so  much  to  garden  flowers 
as  we  have  done  this  time ;  but  the  fact  is,  that  these 
flowers,  with  their  parts  in  sixes,  are  all  so  handsome 
that  they  are  sure  to  get  into  gardens.  The  blue-bell 
(I  mean  the  wild  hyacinth,  the  English  blue-bell,  not 
the  hare-bell,  or  blue-bell  of  Scotland)  is  wild  enough 
indeed,  spreading  in  perfect  clouds  over  the  copses, 
and  supplying  the  main  strength  of  the  May-day  gar¬ 
lands,  drooping  its  profuse  deep  blue-bells  in  such 
multitudes,  each  footstalk  bearing  a  little  bract*  as  blue 
as  the  flower.  How  pretty  are  the  buds  pressed  close 
together  in  that  cluster,  and  how  graceful  the  long 
linear  leaves !  I  dare  say  most  children,  happy  enough 
to  be  brought  up  in  the  country,  would  say,  as  I  do, 
that  some  of  their  most  joyous  days  have  been  spent 
in  blue-bell  gathering.  I  shall  never  forget  one  walk, 
nor  I  am  sure  will  the  little  cousin  who  shared  it  with 
me,  when  we  went  through  a  beautiful  wood,  tall  trees 
above,  and  a  path  winding  along  close  to  the  sea, 
which  sparkled  and  glanced  through  their  leaves  ;  and 

*  Bracts  are  leaves  growing  at  the  foot  of  the  flower-stalk. 


THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 


163 


on  the  other  side,  a  mossy  bank  rising,  covered  with 
such  a  profusion  of  blue-bells !  How  we  tilled  our 
hands  with  them,  and  having  agreed  that  we  would  be 
very  good,  each  made  a  point  of  giving  the  other  her 
very  finest,  most  thickly-clustered  bells,  or  the  precious 
white  ones,  and  still  more  valued  pale  lilac  bells,  which 
we  used  to  call  pink,  and  think  such  a  prize !  And 
then,  when  our  nurses  got  into  a  hurry,  and  told  us 
to  gather  no  more,  I  can  still  remember  the  feeling  of 
resolution  with  which  we  passed  the  choicest  blue-bells, 
not  attempting  to  gather  them,  though,  of  course,  just 
because  we  had  not  got  them,  they  seemed  the  best  of 
all.  Only  think,  if  that  walk  is  so  pleasant  to  me  to 
remember  after  twenty  years,  and  because  I  was 
honestly  trying  to  be  a  good  little  girl,  as  well  as  for 
the  sake  of  my  companion,  does  it  not  show  us  the 
lasting  value  of  really  loving,  and  trying  to  do  right  ? 
The  thought  of  those  untouched  flowers  is  precious 
still,  and  will  always  be  so  ;  but  would  it  be  so  if  we 
had  disobeyed  and  turned  aside  after  them  ?  Depend 
upon  it,  it  will  be  just  the  same  in  greater  matters, 
for  a  day  will  come  when  what  we  most  prize  now 
will  be  as  worthless  to  us  as  are  in  themselves  the 
blue-bells  of  twenty  years  ago.  The  love  and  the  self- 
restraint  will  be  the  lasting  things. 

Even  blue-bells  cannot  keep  entirely  among  wild 
flowers,  for  the  blue-bell  is  a  hyacinth,  and  its  eastern 
brother,  the  hyacinth  of  Bagdad,  is  one  of  the  most 
petted  of  plants.  In  its  natural  state,  the  blossom  is 
not  so  long  and  slender  as  the  blue-bell,  nor  are  the 
ends  of  the  petals  so  prettily  curled  back.  We  gene¬ 
rally  see  it  double,  and  of  many  varieties,  to  which 
strange  names  are  given.  The  hyacinth  carries  so 
much  nourishment  in  its  bulb  as  to  require  no  earth, 


164 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


and  many  town  children  know  the  pleasure  of  keeping 
a  bulb  in  a  glass  all  the  winter,  watching  it  shoot  out 
its  long  white  fibres  into  the  water  beneath,  and  set  up 
its  almond-shaped  bud,  which  grows  and  spreads  till 
leaves,  and  stem,  and  blossoms,  blue,  white,  or  pink, 
unfold  themselves.  Grecian  legends  say  that  this 
flower  sprung  from  the  blood  of  Hyacinthus,  a  beau¬ 
tiful  youth,  who  was  killed  by  accident  by  their  god 
Apollo,  and  its  leaves  are  marked  with  I.  A.,  the  first 
letters  of  his  name  in  Greek ;  but  no  one  ever  has 
been  able  to  find  any  such  marks  on  them,  nor  on  the 
wild  blue-bell,  which  is  therefore  called  in  Latin,  hya¬ 
cinthus  non  scriptus,  the  unwritten  hyacinth. 

The  beautiful  lily  of  the  valley,  shading  its  pearly 
bells  under  its  broad  green  leaf,  is  wild  in  some  fortu¬ 
nate  woods,  and  there  each  petal  is  marked  with  a 
single  deep  purple  spot,  but  strangely  enough,  these 
disappear  as  soon  as  the  root  is  transplanted  into  a 
garden.  How  well  they  grow  and  thrive  in  some  old- 
fashioned  gardens,  spreading  out  in  a  whole  wilderness 
of  green,  and  raising  their  lovely  modest  heads. 

Solomon’s  seal  is  of  the  same  genus,  and  a  very 
pretty  plant  it  is,  its  bending  stem  furnished  with  broad 
green  leaves,  growing  alternately,  and  at  the  spring  of 
each  leaf,  a  pale  green  bell  drooping  gracefully  down. 
Both  it  and  the  lily  of  the  valley  have  their  seed  in  a 
purple  berry. 

Garlick  and  onions  belong  to  this  class,  as  you  may 
see  by  looking  at  the  six-pointed  blossoms  in  the  round 
head  of  the  onion.  So  does  the  great  tropical  plant, 
the  aloe,  and  the  pine-apple,  which  grows  in  so  curious 
a  manner,  its  purple  blossoms  being  perched  on  each 
division  of  what  we  call  the  fruit,  which  seems  to  be  in 
fact  a  stem  crowned  with  the  solid  dark  prickly  leaves. 


THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 


1G5 


It  grows  in  quantities  in  hot  countries,  though  only  in 
hot-houses  here.  Indeed,  it  has  hardly  been  known 
in  this  country  for  more  than  a  hundred  years,  and  is 
still  considered  as  one  of  the  rarest  of  fruits.  It  is 
lucky  for  us  homely  people  that  we  can  do  very  well 
without  it,  for  we  have  been  given  much  that  is  plea¬ 
sant  to  our  taste,  and  wholesome  for  us,  to  grow  freely 
without  over-care  or  cost  under  our  own  temperate  sky. 

Another  fruit  produced  by  a  six-stamened  flower  is 
the  barberry.  Perhaps  you  know  its  very  sour  oblong 
red  berries,  its  sharp  spikes  of  thorn,  its  shining  prick- 
edged  leaves,  and  its  blossoms  like  clusters  of  little 
yellow  roses  ;  but  probably  you  do  not  know  how 
curious  is  the  arrangement  of  its  stamens.  They  are 
bent  back  towards  the  edge  of  the  petals,  which  guard 
the  anthers  from  rain,  but  they  are  thus  so  far  from  the 
germ  that  the  pollen  could  never  reach  it.  Touch  the 
lower  part  of  the  filament  with  a  pin.  It  is  as  if  you 
had  touched  a  spring;  up  jumps  the  filament,  it  bends 
over  the  germ,  opens  its  anther,  lets  out  its  pollen,  then 
goes  quietly  back  to  its  proper  position.  Instead  of  a 
pin,  this  is  effected  in  general  by  the  little  foot,  or 
slender  trunk  of  a  bee  seeking  honey,  and  thus  by  a 
wonderful  arrangement  of  Providence  the  insect  repays 
the  flower  for  the  honey  by  setting  the  machine  to  work 
by  which  the  seed  is  produced. 

Asparagus  is  another  six-stamened  plant  which  is 
good  for  food,  though  it  is  not  the  red  and  yellow  ber¬ 
ries  that  we  eat,  as  they  hang  on  the  feathery  little 
trees  that  form  such  pretty  groves  along  the  beds  in 
autumn.  It  is  the  young  buds  of  the  plant  itself  that 
form  the  thumbs  (as  the  French  call  them,)  of  aspara¬ 
gus,  that  are  so  good  to  eat  in  the  spring.  It  grows 


166 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


wild  in  one  small  island  on  the  coast  of  Cornwall, 
called  after  it  Asparagus  Island. 

Do  you  know  that  stiff  yellow  thing,  the  Asphodel, 
its  hard  orange  stem,  its  grass-like  bluish  leaves,  its 
star  of  six  petals,  and  six  downy  stamens,  tipped  with 
a  red  anther?  We  hear  a  great  deal  in  poetry  about 
dwelling  in  meads  of  yellow  asphodel,  but  they  are  not 
at  all  the  places  I  could  fancy  dwelling  in,  though  I 
like  very  much  to  botanize  in  them,  for  they  are  gene¬ 
rally  peaty  bogs,  full  of  black  moist  earth.  I  think 
they  must  have  been  admired  by  the  Greeks  as  being 
connected  with  the  mountain  air  and  fresh  breezes, 
delightful  in  so  hot  a  country  ;  and  that  they  have  tra¬ 
velled  from  Greek  into  English  poetry,  without  much 
reason. 

In  still  wetter  places  than  these  meads,  generally  in 
a  pond  or  ditch,  we  find  the  graceful  water-plantain,  its 
pale  lilac  or  white  flowers  possessing  only  three  petals, 
and  putting  us  in  mind  of  the  three-petalled  blue  spider- 
wort  of  our  gardens  in  their  form,  though  the  growth 
of  the  plant  is  very  different.  The  spider-wort  has  all 
its  flowers  packed  up  in  a  sheath,  and  has  linear  leaves, 
while  those  of  the  plaintain  have  long  stems,  and  are 
slightly  rounded,  and  its  blossoms  spread  out  on  branches 
on  each  side  its  tall  upright  stem. 

Now  that  we  have  got  into  the  bogs,  wre  must  not 
come  away  without  a  few  rushes.  Don’t  you  like 
rushes?  Shining,  green,  tapering  rushes,  so  polished 
outside,  and  containing  that  soft  white  pith.  They  are 
choice  playfellows  for  a  country  child.  What  famous 
helmets,  or  fools’-caps,  (whichever  you  call  them,)  do 
they  make,  twisted  round  a  band  below7,  and  gathered 
into  a  peak !  Or  they  will  make  still  better  slight  bas¬ 
kets  than  the  knock-head,  and  if  you  have  the  patience 


THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 


1G7 


to  plait  tliem  and  sew  them  up,  they  will  make  real 
good  baskets  that  are  worth  having,  and  last  for  some 
time.  Their  pith  serves  for  the  wicks  of  rush  candles, 
and  themselves  for  chair  bottoms,  so  they  are  by  no 
means  to  be  despised  by  grown-up  people  any  more 
than  children.  They  have  no  leaves,  only  stems,  and 
their  blossom  is  that  brown  tuft  which  we  pull  off  be¬ 
fore  using  them.  Those  tufts  contain  a  multitude  of 
little  six-pointed  starry  flowers.  You  may  see  their 
form  more  distinctly  in  the  pretty  little  wood-rush, 
which  is  more  perfect  in  its  parts,  having  leaves  en¬ 
casing  the  stem  like  a  grass,  and  a  small  starry  flower, 
containing  six  stamens  and  a  three- cleft  pistil. 

One  of  these  rushes  is  the  Papyrus,  the  reed  of 
Egypt,  on  the  rind  of  which,  in  former  times,  people 
used  to  write  with  an  iron  pen,  digging  in  the  letters. 
It  was  from  this  that  paper  was  named.  I  have  a 
piece  of  this  paper  rush,  which  was  raised  in  a  hot¬ 
house.  It  is  very  large,  a  regular  triangle  in  shape, 
the  blossoms  on  branches,  all  growing  out  together  at 
the  top.  The  green  skin  is  tough  and  leathery,  not  at 
all  like  paper,  you  would  say,  and  it  is  filled  with  a 
quantity  of  white  pith. 

Lastly,  before  leaving  the  water,  we  must  take  the 
table-cloth  of  the  butterfly  and  grasshopper.  Do  you 
remember 

“  A  mushroom  their  table,  and  on  it  was  laid, 

A  water-dock  leaf,  which  the  table-cloth  made?” 

The  water- dock  is  very  handsome,  its  dark  green  leaves, 
red  stems,  and  strange  blossoms,  make  a  grand  appear¬ 
ance,  and  here  it  does  little  harm,  though  its  relations 
are  some  of  the  most  troublesome  of  weeds,  their  roots 
creep  so  obstinately,  and  are  so  hard  to  kill.  Even 
when  dug  up  and  left  outside  the  earth,  they  will  still 


168 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


shoot  out  again,  and  perhaps  it  is  from  this  steadiness 
in  growing,  in  spite  of  adverse  circumstances,  that  one 
kind  has  acquired  the  name  of  patience  dock. 

The  small  sort,  called  the  sorrel-dock,  or  cuckoo’s 
bread-and-cheese,  is  esteemed  by  many  children  for  its 
pleasant  sharp  taste,  and  by  many  a  dock  leaf  is  used 
as  a  cure  for  the  sting  of  a  nettle. 

The  dock  has  three  calyx  leaves,  three  red  petals,  six 
stamens  in  a  little  bunch,  three  pistils,  each  possessing 
a  most  beautiful  little  white-tufted  stigma,  and  alto¬ 
gether  producing  one  seed. 

So  ends  our  class  of  sixes,  not  very  distantly  related 
to  the  spears  and  dags  of  class  the  third,  only  doubling 
most  of  the  parts,  which  in  that  class  are  in  threes. 
They  are  apt  to  have  the  same  linear  leaves,  and  bul¬ 
bous  roots,  and  the  same  gay  colours ;  and  when  we 
remember  the  beautiful  form  of  the  hexagon,  or  six- 
sided  figure,  the  most  perfectly  regular  of  all  shapes,  it 
seems  to  show  why  so  many  of  our  most  beautiful 
flowers  belong  to  this  class. 

Do  you  remember  my  showing  you  in  the  nut  and 
bean  how  plants  grow  up  with  two  cotyledons,  or  seed 
leaves,  at  first  ?  All  plants  do  so  grow  up,  except  those 
of  the  rule  of  three,  the  bulbs,  the  grasses,  the  rushes, 
the  orchises,  and  the  palm-trees — every  one  of  these 
come  up  at  first  in  a  single  bud,  or,  as  botanists  say, 
one  cotyledon.  They  all  have  their  parts  in  threes  and 
sixes ;  their  leaves,  as  we  have  seen,  are  linear,  and 
without  the  network  of  ribs  and  veins  of  other  leaves, 
and  their  stems  are  always  straight  instead  of  branched, 
and  often  hollow  and  jointed.  These  are  curious  dif¬ 
ferences  for  you  to  observe  and  remember. 


169 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CLASSES  VII.  VIII.  IX.  X.  XI. 

After  the  first  six  classes  we  begin  to  get  over  the 
ground  a  little  faster,  for  the  seventh  class  is  very 
small,  there  is  only  one  English  plant  belonging  to  it, 
and  only  one  other  that  is  often  cultivated  here.  The 
one  English  plant  is  the  little  winter-green,  a  white 
flower  that  only  grows  in  the  northern  counties.  The 
other  is  not  small,  for  it  is  that  noble  tree,  the  horse- 
chestnut.  I  cannot  tell  where  the  native  country  of  the 
horse-chestnut  may  be  ;  some  say  it  is  among  the  moun¬ 
tains  to  the  north  of  India,  and  I  should  guess  that  it 
must  be  a  rather  cold  place,  because  the  buds  are  so 
well  protected  from  the  winter’s  frost. 

We  see  them  even  before  Christmas,  pointing  up 
their  hard,  sticky,  dark-brown  noses,  in  readiness  for 
the  next  spring,  and  if  you  wish  to  see  a  pretty  sight, 
I  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  Take  one  of  these  buds, 
and  with  a  sharp  knife  and  steady  hand  make  what, 
in  learned  language,  is  called  a  longitudinal  section  of 
it,  that  is  to  say,  cut  it  in  two  lengthways,  just  as  the 
meridians  of  longitude  are  marked  on  the  globe.  First, 
you  see  there  is  an  outer  case  of  hard  brown  scales, 
covered  with  gum,  to  keep  all  safe  and  firm ;  there  are 
at  least  as  many  as  seventeen  to  one  bud,  lapping  one 
over  the  other,  so  that  Jack  Frost  may  pinch  as  hard 
and  tight  as  he  chooses  without  doing  the  least  damage 
to  the  precious  little  gem*  within.  A  lady  packs  up 
her  gems  and  jewels  in  her  morocco  cases,  lined  with 

*  Gemma,  a  gem,  is  the  Latin  name  for  a  leaf-bud. 


170 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


satin,  and  made  soft  with  cotton-wool ;  but  Nature 
guards  her  jewels  still  more  choicely,  for  smoother 
than  satin  is  the  green  lining  of  the  innermost  of  these 
gummy  scales,  and  finer  than  cotton-wool  is  the  soft 
silky  down  within  them,  where  nestles  the  young  spike 
of  blossoms  and  leaves.  You  can  already  see  the  form 
of  the  tapering  spike,  and  the  green  of  the  mites  of 
leaves,  and  if  you  have  a  little  microscope,  and  are 
always  hunting  for  objects  for  it,  you  will  be  delighted 
to  see  for  yourself  how  perfect  the  whole  branch  of 
leaves  and  blossoms  is  already  in  this  embryo  state. 
Is  it  not  beautiful  1  And  the  more  we  look  into  them, 
the  more  we  see  the  perfection  of  these  works  of  a 
Divine  Hand.  A  German  botanist,  with  a  much  better 
glass  than  we  are  likely  ever  to  have  the  use  of,  man¬ 
aged  to  count  the  flowers,  sixty-eight  in  number,  and 
to  see  the  pollen  on  the  stamens. 

In  the  spring  the  sun  dries  up  the  gum,  the  scales 
crack  off,  and  are  strewn  under  the  tree,  as  we  pull 
brown  paper  off  a  parcel ;  and  as  if  a  fairy  wand  had 
touched  them,  out  burst  the  light-green  leaves,  like 
drooping  fans,  seven  springing  from  one  footstalk,  and 
four  or  five  footstalks  from  each  bud,  all  centring 
round  the  straight  spike  of  blossoms,  which  alone 
points  upright,  while  the  leaves  hang  drooping  round 
it.  Then  how  fast  they  grow,  as  if  they  all  were 
racing  which  should  come  to  their  full  size  first,  the 
spikes  shooting  higher  and  higher.  The  leaflets,  which 
to-day  were  as  long  as  a  baby’s  finger,  are  to-morrow 
quite  as  long  as  your  own ;  the  next  day  a  man  could 
hardly  span  them,  and  in  a  week,  it  must  be  a  giant 
indeed  who  could  lay  the  leaf  on  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
Next,  the  May  sunshine  opens  the  blossom  buds  on 
that  tall  upright  branch,  where  they  grow  together  in 


CLASSES  VII.  VIII.  IX.  X.  XI. 


171 


little  bunches  of  three,  twenty-two  of  these  threes, 
perhaps,  on  one  spike,  each  with  a  calyx  divided  into 
five,  a  corolla  of  five  petals,  with  seven  stamens,  and 
one  pistil,  its  germ  round,  and  its  style  tapering.  The 
petals  are  white,  but  the  two  upper  ones  have  a  large 
spot  of  colour  on  them,  sometimes  yellow  and  some¬ 
times  pink,  and  this  gives  the  flowers  a  peculiarly 
pretty  variegated  appearance.  Beautiful  things  !  1  am 
always  sorry  when  the  white  petals  fall  off,  and  the 
tree  of  noble  spikes  loses  its  beauty,  and  ceases  to  be 
what  it  lias  been  very  well  named — a  giant’s  nosegay. 
It  would  be  too  much  for  the  poor  tree  to  maintain 
and  bring  to  perfection  a  fruit  for  every  one  of  the 
sixty-six  flowers  on  each  spike ;  so  only  two  or  three 
on  each  even  form  their  fruit,  and  of  these  one  or  two 
generally  fall  off,  and  lie  like  little  green  prickly  balls 
on  the  ground ;  the  others  swell  into  a  large  prickly 
green  case,  with  a  beautiful  smooth  lining,  like  white 
kid  leather,  fashioned  into  two  cells,  holding  the  delight 
of  all  children,  two  polished  brown  seeds,  as  large  as 
a  marble,  and  veined  and  smooth  as  the  mahogany 
dining-table.  What  a  prize  they  are,  and  what  fun  to 
pick  them  up  and  play  with  them  ;  and  how  they  are 
admired,  especially  when  only  half  ripe,  with  their 
brown  and  white  in  spots  like  a  pie-bald  horse  !  If  you 
put  them  in  the  fire,  beware,  for  the  heat  turns  their 
moisture  to  steam,  and  in  trying  to  break  out  of  their 
hard  case,  the  steam  drives  them  out  with  a  bounce, 
breaks  the  case,  and  makes  it  fly  all  over  the  room. 
Don’t  eat  them  either,  for  they  would  make  you  very 
sick ;  leave  them  to  deer,  which  are  very  fond  of  them. 
There  is  another  kind  of  horse-chestnut,  with  red  blos¬ 
soms  and  smooth  fruit,  not  nearly  as  handsome  as  the 
common  kind.  Now  we  have  come  to  another  tree, 


172 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


we  will  not  leave  it  without  my  telling  you  something 
about  bark.  Did  you  ever  peel  a  stick?  First  there  is 
a  thin  brown  skin,  next  a  thicker  coat,  green  outside, 
which  is  apt  to  hurt  one’s  fingers.  These  are  the  two 
coats  in  their  youth,  and  they  are  always  growing  and 
thickening  each  year,  not  from  the  outside,  but  by 
layers  from  within.  The  inner  rind  is  called  the  liber, 
and  on  this  the  Romans  used  to  write,  and  so  in  Latin 
a  book  was  named  liber,  and  you  know  in  English  a 
number  of  books  is  termed  a  library.  Who  would 
have  thought  of  a  library  being  so  called  from  the  bark 
of  a  tree !  The  bark,  I  said,  grows  from  within,  re¬ 
ceiving  layers  from  the  useful  sap-wood,  and  so  the 
outer  coat  of  the  tree  is  always  growing  too  tight  for  it. 

Some  trees,  such  as  the  horse-chestnut,  seem  to  manage 
nevertheless  to  keep  their  garments  whole,  but  the 
birch  peels  off  its  old  skin  in  long  thin  purplish  ribbons, 
that  are  tempting  to  pull  at ;  the  plane  makes  a  ragged 
figure  of  itself,  by  casting  off  its  jacket  in  great  flakes ; 
and  the  oak  and  elm  show  deep  furrows  in  their  outer 
bark,  where  it  has  split  and  parted  wider  each  year,  to 
make  room  for  the  under  growth  of  the  liber,  and  the 
enlarging  rings  of  the  sap-wood. 

I  told  you  about  most  of  the  eighth  class,  with  parts 
in  fours  and  twice  fours,  when  we  were  about  the  last 
bells  of  summer ;  there  are  only  a  few  more  worth 
mentioning,  such  as  the  bright  yellow-wort,  with  its 
stiff  stem  and  handsome  flowers,  and  the  whole  tribe  of 
whortleberries  and  cranberries.  These  have  stiff  white 
blossoms  and  low  shrubby  stems  ;  they  grow  on  a  peaty 
soil,  chiefly  on  mountains  or  bogs ;  and  their  berries, 
either  red  or  purple,  have  a  pleasant  sharpness,  which 
makes  them  veiy  good  for  tarts  or  for  jam.  I  have 
heard  a  lady  say  who  spent  her  younger  days  in  a  town 


CLASSES  VII.  VIII.  IX.  X.  XI. 


173 


on  the  borders  of  the  New  Forest,  that  all  the  tarts  to 
be  bought  there  in  shops,  were  made  of  whortleber¬ 
ries,  and  very  sour  they  were.  Now,  the  cranberries 
most  used  in  tarts,  are  imported  from  America ;  but 
many  mountain  children  in  our  own  country  still  gather 
them  for  market,  and  the  children  who  have  learnt  that 
pretty  book,  “  Moral  Songs,”  will  not  have  forgotten  the 
little  sick  boy’s  gift  of  purple  berries  to  the  kind  lady. 

The  beautiful  American  plants,  azaleas  and  kalmias, 
belong  to  this  class.  I  think  the  bud  of  the  great  white 
kalmia,  or  calico  flower,  as  it  is  called  in  America,  one 
of  the  prettiest  things  I  know;  and  the  flower  pinned 
down  with  its  eight  regular  stamens,  is  very  elegant. 
The  stamens  have  the  same  curious  property  of  spring¬ 
ing  up  and  shedding  their  pollen  as  the  barberry.  These 
are  not  apt  to  be  seen  out  of  grand  gardens,  and  the 
only  one  of  the  race  that  is  apt  to  come  in  small  people’s 
way  is  the  rhododendron,  a  very  splendid  mountain 
dweller,  who  has  made  himself,  his  evergreen  leaves, 
and  bunches  of  crimson  or  lilac  blossoms,  nearly  at 
home  in  our  climate.  One  small  sort  grows  in  Swit¬ 
zerland,  and  the  Asiatic  ranges  of  mountains  are  the 
proper  abode  of  the  handsome  ones,  where  they  keep 
high  enough  to  be  out  of  the  great  heat,  but  too  low 
for  perpetual  snow  ;  and  when  planted  here,  in  peat  or 
bog,  or  anything  like  mountain  soil,  they  grow  like 
natives,  flourish,  and  attain  a  great  size.  All  these 
three,  however,  kalmia,  azalea,  and  rhododendron,  have 
honey  which  is  good  for  bees  but  not  good  for  man,  and 
there  are  stories,  both  ancient  and  modern,  of  very 
serious  illnesses  being  caused  by  eating  honey  made 
entirely  from  these  flowers. 

The  maple  has  eight  stamens,  growing  in  a  small 
green  blossom.  The  fruit  is  very  curious,  two  long 


174 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


lobes,  commonly  called  keys,  hanging  down  from  a 
long  stem,  and  each  containing  one  seed.  The  maple 
changes  the  colour  of  its  leaves  early  in  autumn,  and 
looks  very  gay  in  the  hedges  ;  its  leaves,  too,  are  of  a 
very  pretty  lobed  form,  especially  those  of  that  large, 
handsome  kind,  the  sycamore.  The  sap,  too,  of  one 
kind  is  very  sweet,  so  sweet  that  in  North  America  it  is 
made  into  sugar  ;  I  have  seen  a  cake  of  brown,  coarse- 
looking  maple  sugar,  such  as  each  Canadian  farmer 
makes  for  his  own  use,  just  as  we  make  cheeses. 

Peru  is  apt  to  grow  sun-coloured  flowers,  and  thence 
comes  what  we  foolishly  call  the  nasturtion,  though  it 
has  two  very  good  old  English  names,  Indian  cress,  and 
yellow  lark’s  heels,  besides  a  real  Latin  one,  tropaeo- 
lum,  or  trophy,  given  because  the  leaves  are  like  shields, 
and  the  flowers  like  golden  helmets.  It  is  a  droll  flower, 
with  its  yellow  calyx  growing  out  into  a  long  spur 
behind,  and  the  little  fringes  to  its  yellow  or  orange 
petals.  These  petals  are  very  good  when  put  into  a 
salad,  which  is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  of  their  being  call¬ 
ed  Indian  cress  ;  and  it  is  said  that  just  before  sunrise, 
especially  in  thundery  weather,  they  give  out  flashes  of 
light,  as  a  black  cat’s  back  does  in  a  frosty  night.  All 
I  can  tell  you  about  the  cause  of  this  wonder  is,  that  it 
is  the  effect  of  electricity,  and  there  we  stop  short,  nei¬ 
ther  of  us  much  the  wiser.  The  prettiest  sort  of  tro- 
preoliun  is  the  little  canary-bird  flower,  so  called  because 
it  is  just  like  a  little  yellow  bird,  the  bud  like  a  canary 
with  its  wings  closed,  the  half-expanded  flower  like  one 
flying,  and  the  full-blown  like  a  bold  cock  canary,  wings 
and  tail  full  spread,  darting  out  at  an  enemy. 

Next  comes  the  purple  mezereon,  blossoming  in  the 
winter  without  its  leaves  ;  and  all  the  weedy  race  of 
persicarias,  those  red-stemmed  things  with  white  bios- 


CLASSES  VII.  VIII.  IX.  X.  XI. 


175 


soms  and  heart-shaped  leaves,  that  twist  and  twine 
wherever  they  are  not  wanted,  and  infest  damp  soil 
especially.  The  buck-wheat  is  the  only  one  that  is  of 
any  use,  and  that  grows  in  such  poor  soils  that  nothing 
else  would  flourish  there. 

Herb  Paris,  an  odd-looking  thing  with  four  styles, 
twice  four  stamens,  four  petals,  and  four  leaves  spread¬ 
ing  on  each  side  of  the  stem ;  and  the  little  adoxa, 
sometimes  called  musk,  a  tiny  green  plant  of  early 
spring,  growing  in  hedgerows,  with  its  little  flowers  in 
round  heads,  bring  up  the  rear  of  class  eight. 

Class  the  ninth  lias  one  English  plant,  the  beautiful 
pink  flowering- rush,  which  grows  in  rivers,  but  not 
very  frequently.  I  have  only  once  seen  it,  and  then  it 
was  in  a  river  in  Gloucestershire.  It  was  almost  out 
of  blossom,  but  it  was  a  prize  indeed.  The  bay-tree 
belongs  to  the  ninth  class ;  I  daresay  you  know  it  well, 
those  fragrant  evergreen  leaves  are  so  pleasant  to  gather 
and  make  a  nice  mark  for  the  collect  and  psalms  in  a 
prayer-book.  It  grows  wild  in  the  south  of  Europe, 
and  was  greatly  prized  by  the  Greeks  and  Romans ; 
indeed,  it  was  of  bay  leaves  that  they  wove  the  wreaths 
with  which  they  crowned  their  victors,  either  in  war, 
poetry,  or  their  games  of  strength  and  skill.  These 
are  the  corruptible  crowns  for  which  the  Greeks  strove 
and  trained  themselves,  with  so  much  more  self-denial 
and  steadiness  than  the  children  of  light  are  always 
ready  to  take  for  the  crowns  of  glory  that  will  never 
fade  away.  The  Latin  name  of  the  bay  is  laurus,  and 
this  has  made  a  little  confusion,  as  the  laurel  is  quite  a 
different  plant ;  but  whenever  you  hear  of  people  being 
crowned  with  laurel,  like  Julius  Caesar,  it  is  sure  to 
mean  with  bay. 

The  cinnamon  tree  is  a  sort  of  bay,  which  grows 


176 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


plentifully  in  Ceylon,  and  its  light  shining  evergreen 
leaves  are  most  beautiful  in  the  woods.  It  is  the 
inner  bark  that  we  use  to  flavour  puddings,  and  the 
seed,  when  boiled,  yields  an  oil  that  hardens  into  white 
cakes,  and  is  made  into  candles.  The  camphor  tree, 
another  of  the  same  family,  is  found  in  China  and 
Borneo,  and  the  white  lumps  of  fragrant  refreshing 
camphor  are  found  entire  in  the  stem  of  the  tree,  while 
some  is  also  obtained  from  its  leaves  by  distilling  them. 
Rhubarb  is  another  of  the  ninth  class ;  I  mean  the 
medicine  that  is  so  good  a  lesson  to  little  children,  in 
resolution  and  self-command.  The  rhubarb  that  is 
made  into  tarts  is  another  of  the  same  family.  It  is 
the  root  that  is  powdered  and  used  as  medicine,  and 
is  brought  in  lumps  from  Turkey.  I  wonder  which 
of  the  small  people  who  may  read  this  chapter  can 
take  a  dose  of  rhubarb  without  a  fuss  beforehand,  and 
with  only  one  wry  face  afterwards.  If  they  can — no, 
I  will  not  say  can ,  but  will — if  they  will,  there  is  a 
hope  that  they  may  turn  out  men  or  women  fit  for 
something  ;  if  not,  unless  they  will  strive  to  conquer 
themselves,  I  am  afraid  they  will  shrink  and  repine  at 
present  annoyance  all  their  lives. 

Now  for  class  ten.  To  this  belongs  the  pretty  arbu¬ 
tus,  or  strawberry  tree,  which  grows  wild  nowhere  in 
the  British  isles  but  on  the  islands  of  the  beautiful 
Lake  of  Killarney,  and  the  hills  round  it.  Next  comes 
the  whole  race  of  saxifrage,  yellow  and  white,  dwellers 
on  mountains  and  rocks,  the  white  soap-wort,  and  the 
more  agreeable  family  of  sweet  pinks  and  carnations. 

Sweet  William  stands  first  of  these,  fine  fellow  that 
he  is,  either  crimson  velvet  all  over,  or  white  with  a  pink 
eye,  and  living  at  home  in  Germany,  but  very  happy 
in  an  English  cottage  garden,  and  making  a  grand 


CLASSES  VII.  VIII.  IX.  X.  XI. 


177 


show  in  the  nosegays  that  you  send  to  some  sister  or 
cousin  in  London.  The  cloves,  carnations,  and  pico- 
tees,  about  which  gardeners  are  so  choice,  all  come 
from  one  common  sort,  wild  in  the  south  of  Europe. 
I  don’t  like  any  so  well  as  the  old  blood-red  clove,  and 
the  plain  white  pink,  they  both  smell  so  sweet;  and 
yet,  saying  this  seems  rather  hard  on  those  pretty 
white  ones  trimmed  with  deep  purple,  but  the  worst  of 
them  is  that  their  calyx,  not  being  meant  for  a  double 
llower,  is  crammed  so  full  of  their  petals,  that  it  is  apt 
to  split  and  look  very  untidy.  The  little  annual  Indian 
pink  is  very  pretty,  its  two  long  curling  styles  always 
put  me  in  mind  of  the  trunk  of  some  kind  of  insects. 
We  have  a  few  wild  kinds,  but  none  very  common.  The 
whole  race  have  linear  leaves,  a  cup-like  undivided 
calyx,  live  petals,  fastened  down  with  a  long  claw,  and 
spreading  like  a  fan  above,  ten  stamens,  and  two  styles. 

The  little  insignificant  sandworts  that  creep  on  the 
gravel,  the  pretty  white  stitcliwort  or  starwort,  that 
blows  on  hedge-banks  in  early  spring,  the  chickweed 
with  which  we  feed  birds  in  cages,  and  the  whole 
family  of  silene  or  catchfly,  are  all  ten-stamened 
flowers,  with  three  long  curled  styles  almost  like  the 
horns  of  an  insect,  their  five  petals  each  cleft  in  the 
middle  very  prettily.  To  the  catchflies  belongs  what 
some  children  call  white-bottle,  or  bladder-campion, 
from  its  large  swelling  calyx.  I  used  to  call  it  white 
robin,  and  fancy  it  the  white  comrade  of  the  red  robin ; 
but  in  this  I  was  much  mistaken,  for  red  robin,  or 
rose-campion,  has  five  pistils  with  its  ten  stamens,  and 
is  a  lychnis,  as  well  as  its  odd  wild-looking  brother, 
ragged  robin,  also  called  meadow  lychnis  or  cuckoo¬ 
flower,  because  it  shows  its  jagged  pink  petals  and 
reddish  stem  just  as  cuckoos  begin  to  sing. 

12 


178 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Another  with  five  styles  is  the  beautiful  corn-cockle, 
which  raises  its  deep  purple-veined  petals,  and  long 
slender  calyx  leaves  in  its  tall  grey  downy  stalks,  in 
the  midst  of  our  fields.  I  am  afraid  farmers  call  it  a 
troublesome  weed,  and  it  is  said  that  from  its  old  name 
of  Lolly,  the  followers  of  Wickliffe  were  called  Lollards. 
In  the  Book  of  Job,  the  cockle  coming  up  instead  of 
the  barley,  is  spoken  of  as  a  great  misfortune.  The 
yellow  and  white  stonecrops  also  have  five  styles,  starry 
flowers,  with  lumps  rather  than  leaves ;  so  has  the 
many-belled  pennywort,  so  named  from  its  round  leaves, 
and  the  lovely  woodsorrel,  delicate  little  thing,  do  you 
not  delight  in  finding  its  beds,  full  of  those  pale  green 
trefoil  leaves,  and  exquisite  white  flowers  streaked  with 
purple?  In  Germany  it  is  called  the  Hallelujah,  and 
is  thought  the  special  flower  of  Trinity  Sunday,  be¬ 
cause  of  its  threefold  leaves. 

A  word  or  two  of  the  eleventh  class,  which  includes 
all  the  numbers  of  stamens  from  ten  to  twenty ;  but 
among  all  these  there  are  but  few  interesting  flowers. 
There  is,  to  be  sure,  the  tall  purple  loosestrife,  pointing 
up  long  spires  by  the  river  side;  and  there  is  the 
agrimony,  another  plant  blossoming  in  spikes,  yellow 
flowers,  particularly  fond  of  dusty  places,  and  turning 
to  seeds  shaped  like  little  cones  upside  down,  and 
bristling  with  small  hooks,  that  make  them  adhere 
almost  as  closely  as  burs. 

We  ail  care  more  for  mignionette,  the  very  name  of 
which  means  a  little  darling.  It  is  very  sweet,  and  its 
pale  subdued  tints  serve  to  set  off  gayer  flowers,  just  as 
a  quiet-coloured  dress  looks  well  with  a  brighter  rib¬ 
bon  ;  and  it  is  much  loved  by  Londoners,  who  grow  it 
in  long  green  boxes  outside  their  windows.  Look  at 
some  pretty  verses  about  it  in  “  Moral  Songs.”  It  has 


MANY-STAMENED  FLOWERS. 


179 


its  seeds  in  very  curiously-sliaped  vessels,  like  little 
urns.  There  are  two  sorts  of  wild  mignionette ;  one 
is  like  the  garden  kind,  only  larger  and  scentless,  called 
by  the  name  of  woad,  the  plant  with  which  the  ancient 
Britons  used  to  dye  themselves.  The  other  is  yellower, 
and  in  longer  spikes,  and  is  called  the  rocket  yellow- 
weed. 

Lastly,  comes  the  houseleek.  It  has  eleven  stamens 
and  eleven  pistils,  a  white  blossom,  and  great  fleshy 
leaves,  which  live  so  very  long,  that  its  Latin  name 
is  Semper  Vivum — always  alive.  It  grows  on  the 
thatched  roofs  of  houses,  and  very  handsome  it  is ;  but 
some  people  have  an  odd  fancy  that  it  is  unlucky  to  let 
it  blow,  and  always  cut  off  the  poor  thing’s  flower-stalk 
as  soon  as  it  begins  to  shoot  up.  It  is  a  very  silly 
fancy,  and  I  never  found  any  account  of  the  beginning 
of  it. 

So  end  the  first  eleven  classes,  which  are  known  by 
counting  the  number  of  the  stamens. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

CLASSES  XII.  XIII. — MANY-STAMENED  FLOWERS. 

After  the  first  eleven,  as  I  told  you,  the  classes  of 
flowers  cease  to  depend  on  the  number  of  the  stamens, 
and  are  settled  by  their  arrangement.  The  twelfth 
class  is  Icosandria,  which,  perhaps,  you  may  recollect, 
as  I  told  you  about  it  when  we  talked  about  the  apple 
and  the  may  thorn.  All  its  many  stamens  are  seated 
on  the  calyx,  and  its  petals  are  for  the  most  part  but 
loosely  fastened  on. 

We  went  through  our  most  frequent  and  familiar 


180 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


friends  of  this  class  before,  so  I  will  only  mention  a 
few  which  we  missed.  First  in  order,  though  not 
countrymen  of  our  own,  stand,  or  rather  crawl,  the 
Cactus  tribe,  sometimes  called  melon-thistles.  I  have 
only  known  them  in  green-houses,  or  windows,  where 
they  unfold  their  rich  scarlet  or  pink  blossoms  on  their 
ungainly,  leafless,  prickly  stems,  bristling  with  tufts 
that  seem  as  if  they  had  been  pulled  out  of  a  tooth¬ 
brush,  and  stinging  the  unwary  finger.  The  finest  we 
see  is  the  Cactus  Grandiflorus,  a  very  handsome  red 
flower,  with  an  exquisite  tinge  of  purple  within,  and  a 
long  tongue  of  white  stamens  clustered  close  together  ; 
or  there  is  the  pink  kind,  and  a  second  pink  one,  that, 
creeps  about  in  long  ropes  covered  with  bristles,  and 
very  seldom  does  its  owners  the  favour  of  blossoming. 
At  gardeners’  shops  we  now  and  then  see  odd-looking 
round  things,  like  little  melons,  stuck  all  over  with 
tufts  of  hoary  spikes,  like  vegetable  hedgehogs,  and 
now  and  then,  by  good  luck,  bearing  one  small  pink 
blossom  in  the  centre  of  each  tuft ;  or,  perhaps,  some 
kind  friend  has  brought  you  home,  from  the  Pantheon 
bazaar,  one  of  these  droll  little  wonders,  growing  in 
the  smallest  of  red  flower-pots,  and  looking  more  like 
a  thing  in  a  doll’s  house  than  a  living  plant ;  but  all 
this  gives  us  very  little  notion  of  what  a  cactus  really 
is — no,  and  we  should  not  be  much  nearer  the  truth 
even  if  we  had  seen  them  growing  in  the  beautiful 
rocky  gardens  of  the  Scilly  Isles,  where  they  hang 
down  with  their  rich  red  blossoms  over  almost  perpen¬ 
dicular  faces  of  rock. 

As  fiir  as  I  can  make  out,  a  cactus,  in  its  own 
tropical  regions  of  South  America,  is  like  a  vegetable 
boa-constrictor,  covered  with  porcupine’s  quills,  hog’s 
bristles,  or  wasp  stings,  in  addition  to  the  most  mag- 


MANY- STAMENED  FLOWERS. 


181 


nificent  crimson,  scarlet,  or  yellow  flowers.  Some  of 
them  are  so  large  and  thick  that  they  produce  solid 
wood,  and  they  hang  from  tree  to  tree  in  matted, 
tangled  ropes,  twisted  in  and  out  so  thickly  as  to  he 
perfectly  impenetrable.  The  axe  of  man  is  soon 
wearied  out  in  struggling  with  them ;  and  the  wild 
animals  themselves  cannot  force  their  way  through, 
but  can  only  pass  through  lanes,  as  it  were,  in  the 
forest,  which  their  own  constant  tread  has  worn  down, 
while  even  jaguars  cannot  descend  through  the  tangled 
mass  below  the  branches  of  the  trees.  Two  missionary 
settlements,  but  half  a  mile  apart,  situated  on  different 
small  streams  running  into  the  same  river,  have  not 
the  least  communication  with  each  other  through  the 
jungle,  and  the  only  way  of  going  from  one  to  another 
is  by  descending  one  stream,  and  ascending  the  other, 
a  distance  of  eight  or  nine  miles. 

In  India,  fences  are  made  with  cactus,  and  the  un¬ 
wary  who  have  tried  to  get  through  them,  have  come  out 
stuck  completely  over  with  spikes,  pinning  the  clothes, 
and  even  boots,  fast  down  to  the  flesh.  In  fact,  as  a 
fortification  for  a  garden,  the  cactus  must  be  acknow¬ 
ledged  to  be  superior  even  to  our  own  holly  hedge. 
Of  the  same  race  is  the  great  night-blowing  cereus,  a 
rich  white  flower  that  only  opens  by  night,  and  with 
its  flame-coloured  stamens,  as  it  unfolds  in  its  own 
flowery  land  of  Mexico,  looks  almost  like  a  great  lamp. 

It  would  be  hard  to  love  a  cactus  for  its  own  sake, 
though  many  love  it  for  putting  them  in  mind  of  some 
friendly  window  where  the  red  blossoms  have  peered 
over  the  white  blind,  and  kind  voices  and  cheerful 
faces  have  dwelt ;  but  the  staring  flower  and  unshady 
stem  have  few  personal  charms,  and  we  willingly  go 
to  a  very  different  plant,  the  fair  white-blossomed 


182 


THE  I1ERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


myrtle,  so  pure  and  fresh,  with  its  tufted  stamens  and 
delicious  evergreen  leaves.  It  is  a  home  friend, 
whether  reared  with  pains  and  care  in  a  little  flower¬ 
pot  on  the  window-seat,  or,  as  in  some  favoured  places 
it  may  he  seen,  flourishing  up  to  the  very  eaves  of  the 
house.  Broad-leaved  or  narrow-leaved,  it  is  always 
honoured  and  respected,  and  treated  as  something 
choice — one  of  the  simply  dressed,  but  high-born  ladies 
of  the  flowers,  her  purity  and  modest  grace,  her  attrac¬ 
tion,  without  gaiety  of  colour,  as  we  said  before  of 
her  companion,  the  jessamine.  It  grows  in  perfect 
thickets  in  Italy  and  Greece,  though  ancient  winters 
say  that  it  was  not  originally  a  native,  but  was  brought 
from  Asia.  It  was  highly  esteemed  by  the  old  Greeks 
and  Romans,  and  myrtle-wreaths  were  used  as  well  as 
bay  to  adorn  the  victors  in  their  games.  It  was  con¬ 
sidered  to  be  the  plant  of  peace  and  love,  and  when  a 
general  gained  any  great  advantage  for  his  country 
without  bloodshed,  the  myrtle  was  wound  with  his 
garland  of  bay.  The  goddess  of  beauty.  Venus,  was 
said  to  have  sprung  from  the  sea-foam  with  a  myrtle- 
wreath  round  her  brow ;  so  the  Roman  ladies  used  to 
put  the  leaves  into  the  water  in  their  baths,  as  if  they 
thought  beauty  must  come  out  of  myrtle  tea.  The 
fruit  of  the  myrtle  is  a  purple  berry,  which  seldom  or 
never  ripens  in  England,  but  was  once  used  in  cookery 
by  the  Romans.  There  is,  however,  a  large  kind  of 
myrtle  growing  in  Jamaica,  which  is  called  the 
pimento,  and  which  supplies  us  with  allspice  for  our 
puddings. 

The  Pomegranate  tree  is  sometimes  seen  in  England, 
against  walls,  for  the  sake  of  its  deep  crimson  blossoms. 
We  must  look  to  the  bright  Mediterranean  shores  to 
find  its  fruit  ripened  ;  rich  orange-shaped  and  coloured 


MANY-STAMENED  FLOWERS. 


183 


fruit,  divided  into  five  cells,  containing  numerous  seeds 
in  purple  pulp  (from  which  it  is  called  the  Pome¬ 
granate,  the  seeded  apple,)  gathered  into  a  sort  of  crown 
at  the  top,  formed  by  the  old  calyx.  Its  name  puts 
us  in  mind  of  many  things :  the  bells  and  pome¬ 
granates  of  gold  that  bordered  the  robe  of  the  high- 
priest,  and  the  workmanship  of  the  gold  of  the  inside 
of  the  Temple,  where  it  must  have  had  some  signi¬ 
fication  which  we  cannot  understand.  The  Spanish 
Arabs  named  their  loveliest  city  Granada,  because  they 
thought  the  form  of  the  soft  rounded  vale  like  the  out¬ 
line  of  the  fruit.  The  fruit  became  the  ensign  of  the 
city,  which  was  the  birth-place  of  our  poor  Queen 
Katherine  of  Arragon,  and  in  remembrance  of  that 
fair  home  of  her  youth,  the  pomegranate  became  her 
badge,  and  afterwards  that  of  her  daughter  Mary. 

W  e  now  and  then  see  the  almond  tree  in  gardens, 
its  delicate  pink  blossoms  coming  long  before  the 
leaves,  which,  in  one  variety,  have  their  under  sides 
covered  with  a  white  cottony  substance  that  gives 
them  a  grey,  dull  appearance.  It  is  this  hoariness 
that  is  referred  to  in  that  last  and  most  solemn  chapter 
of  the  Book  of  Ecclesiastes,  where  the  Preacher  says, 
among  other  tokens  that  the  time  is  coining,  for 
“  man’s  going  to  his  long  home,”  that  “  the  almond 
tree  shall  flourish.”  The  almond  tree  grows  wild  in 
the  Holy  Land,  and  its  fruits  were  among  the  gifts 
that  Jacob  desired  his  sons  to  carry  to  the  Governor  of 
Egypt,  whom  they  knew  so  little.  The  rod  by  which 
the  Lord  was  pleased  to  show  that  He  had  chosen 
Aaron  to  be  His  priest,  blossomed  with  almond  flowers, 
and  was  laid  up  in  the  Ark. 

The  almonds  we  use  are  chiefly  brought  from 
Smyrna ;  and  they  are  much  grown  about  Avignon,  in 


184 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


France,  where  the  hoary  leaves  are  said  to  give  the 
country  a  dull,  desolate  aspect.  The  outer  case  of  the 
nut  is  brown,  and  of  a  long  form,  to  suit  the  white 
crescents,  that  look  so  inviting  on  purple  raisins,  or 
are  the  hearts  of  such  very  large  sugar  plums,  that 
people  with  moderate-sized  mouths  had  rather  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them,  and  only  very  small  people 
have  much  desire  to  have  such  a  mouthful. 

That  we  may  not  be  entirely  un-English,  we  must 
just  mention  our  pretty  mountain-ash,  its  white  flowers, 
feathery  leaves,  and  brilliant  red  berries.  It  belongs 
to  the  same  family  as  apples  and  pears,  and  has,  like 
them,  five  pistils.  The  Scots  call  it  rowan,  and  used  to 
believe  it  had  many  virtues,  and  that  a  sprig  of  it  would 
protect  them  from  many  strange  evils. 

The  creamy  meadow-sweet,  otherwise  prettily  called 
Queen  of  the  Meadow,  must  be  mentioned  here.  The 
meadow-sweet  has  a  very  pretty,  irregular  corymb, 
and  is  particularly  pretty  mixed  with  willow-herb,  and 
purple  loose-strife.  There  is  a  garden  kind  of  meadow¬ 
sweet,  about  which  I  have  another  pleasant  school- 
child  story  to  tell  you  : — 

We  had  once  a  girl,  who  had  a  very  pleasant,  quick, 
obliging  way,  an  honest  face,  and  good  temper,  that 
made  us  like  her  very  much.  We  took  a  great  deal 
of  pains  with  her,  and  I  do  believe  she  was  very  fond 
of  us ;  but,  after  a  time,  she  grew  careless  and  idle,  did 
not  do  well  in  her  first  place,  and  we  lost  sight  of  her. 
After  a  long  time,  her  two  little  sisters  came  to  school 
one  Sunday,  each  with  a  very  large  nosegay  of  flowers, 
that  evidently  came  from  no  garden  of  theirs,  and 
which  they  triumphantly  gave  to  us.  We  asked  about 
them,  and  found  that  our  old  friend  was  now  in  service 
at  a  gardener’s,  had  come  home  for  a  Sunday,  and 


MANY-STAMENED  FLOWERS. 


185 


had  got  leave  to  bring  these  beautiful  flowers,  which 
she  sent  to  us.  The  part  of  the  nosegay  we  chiefly 
admired  was  this  meadow-sweet,  and  a  little  while 
after,  to  our  great  surprise,  the  little  girls  brought  us 
a  present  of  a  root,  which  their  sister  had  begged  from 
her  master.  You  will  guess,  after  this,  that  she  had 
conquered  her  idleness,  and  was  going  on  very  well ; 
and,  I  am  glad  to  tell  you,  that  I  have  heard  nothing 
but  good  of  her  since,  nothing  to  spoil  the  pleasure 
her  meadow-sweet  gives  me  every  year  when  I  see  its 
cream-coloured  blossoms. 

I  believe  I  have  already  explained  to  you  the  dif¬ 
ference  between  the  wholesome  twelfth  class  Icosandria, 
and  the  poisonous  thirteenth,  Polyandria.  Both  have 
a  greater  number  of  stamens,  but  those  of  the  twelfth 
grow  on  the  calyx — those  of  the  thirteenth  on  the 
germ. 

We  must  not  pass  by  the  poppies,  the  only  English 
scarlet  flowers  except  the  pimpernel.  They  show  us 
the  characteristics  of  the  class  very  plainly,  their  calyx 
falling  off  when  the  flower  unfolds,  the  multitudinous 
stamens  with  purple  anthers,  clustered  round  the  foot 
of  the  great  urn  of  a  pistil,  the  stigma  so  beautifully 
ornamented  with  rays  coming  out  from  one  centre, 
and  lifting  itself  up  upon  little  supports  like  the  lid  of 
the  urn,  when  the  seed  is  ripe.  Poppies  are  as  poison¬ 
ous  as  any  of  their  tribe,  and  cause  a  heavy  slumber, 
for  which  reason  they  are  considered  as  emblems  of 
sleep.  Opium  is  a  medicine  prepared  from  a  yellow- 
white,  or  purple  poppy  that  grows  in  the  east.  It  is 
very  useful  in  lulling  severe  pain,  and  producing  sleep 
in  bad  illnesses ;  but  the  Turks  and  Chinese  are  so 
foolish  as  to  take  it  without  being  ill,  because  they  like 
it  to  confuse  their  minds,  and  send  them  into  a  sort  of 


18(5 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


heavy  trance  or  day-dream.  I  am  afraid  some  people 
even  in  England  do  the  same,  in  hopes  of  forgetting 
their  troubles ;  but  this  is  a  very  bad  plan,  as  it  stupi- 
fies  their  senses,  and  hurts  their  health.  Besides,  they 
ought  to  know  that  God  sends  troubles  that  they  may 
do  us  good,  not  that  we  should  try  to  forget  them. 

By  the  sea-side  we  may  find  horned  poppies,  which, 
instead  of  an  urn,  have  long  pods  shaped  like  horns, 
and  in  the  corn-fields,  now  and  then,  the  bright  little 
red  and  purple  pheasant  eye,  well  named,  for  the 
colouring  is  very  like  that  of  the  beautiful  eye  of  the 
cock  pheasant. 

Who  knows  the  glory  of  the  river  and  pool,  the 
great  white  Water-Lily?  It  is  our  largest  native 
flower ;  and  magnificent  to  behold  are  the  thick  solid 
white  petals,  and  long  firm  anthers  within  them.  By 
day  it  rises  above  the  water,  spreads  at  noon,  closes 
with  evening,  and  by  night  it  draws  its  white  cups  to 
be  refreshed  and  sheltered  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
stream,  where  its  large  flat  heart-shaped  leaves  are 
always  floating,  sustained  as  they  are  by  corkscrew 
stems,  that  lengthen  or  contract  according  to  the  depth 
of  the  water,  so  that  the  leaf  may  always  be  upon  the 
surface.  The  yellow  water-lily  is  smaller  and  less 
common  than  the  white  one,  and  not  quite  so  beautiful. 

There  is  a  very  grand  kind  of  yellow  or  red  water- 
lily  that  growrs  in  Egypt  and  India,  and  blossoms  at 
the  time  of  the  inundations  of  their  rivers.  It  is  called 
the  Lotus,  and  was  highly  honoured  by  the  old  Egyp¬ 
tian  idolaters,  as  it  still  is  by  the  Hindoos.  The 
largest  of  lilies  is  the  Victoria  Regia,  a  great  white 
South  American  flower,  growing  in  the  river  of  the 
Amazon,  and  the  leaves  so  large  and  solid  that  a 
child  can  walk  on  them.  A  few  are  grown  in  England 


MANY- ST  ALIENED  FLOWERS. 


187 


in  houses  so  warm  you  could  hardly  bear  them,  and 
always  in  hot-water  ponds. 

The  lime  tree  is  another  of  this  class,  though  it  does 
not  seem  to  be  very  closely  related.  So  are  the  pretty 
yellow  cistuses  that  twist  about  on  thymy  banks,  look¬ 
ing  so  cheerful  and  smiling,  their  five  petals  as  frail 
as  those  of  their  handsome  relative  from  Cyprus,  the 
Gum-Cistus,  so  beautifully  painted,  each  white  petal 
shading  into  yellow,  and  dashed  with  deep  red  so  regu¬ 
larly,  as  to  form  a  pentagonal  star  when  the  flower 
opens  in  early  morning,  before  the  fierce  heat  of  the 
sun  has  faded  it.  I  once  told  you  of  that  pretty  lawn, 
shut  in  with  trees,  giving  such  pleasant  peeps  of  the 
arm  of  the  sea  beyond,  where  we  used  to  watch  the 
boats  glide  past,  with  their  sails  white  or  red.  There 
used  to  be  a  gum-cistus  in  the  middle,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  one  sunny  morning  before  breakfast,  when 
I,  a  very  little  child,  was  standing  there  with  my  dear 
godfather,  and  showing  him  how  all  yesterday’s  cistuses 
were  lying  snowed  down,  and  faded  on  the  grass ;  and 
he  answered  me  that  everything  here  faded  and  passed 
away,  like  the  flowers  and  the  boats,  and  we  should 
pass  away  too.  I  thought  it  very  strange  and  sad 
then,  and  would  fain  have  forgotten  it ;  but  it  always 
came  back  with  the  remembrance  of  the  boats,  or  the 
sight  of  the  cistus,  and  now  I  see  that  he  did  not  mean 
it  sadly. 

The  great  crimson  two-pistilled  peony,  and  the  pink 
and  blue  larkspurs,  belong  to  the  many-stamened  race, 
as  well  as  the  handsome  bee-larkspur,  so  called  be¬ 
cause  it  looks  as  if  a  black  bee  had  settled  on  each 
blossom.  Larkspurs  are  wild  in  Greece,  and  that 
other  old-fashioned  flower,  the  Monkshood,  comes  from 
the  Alps.  The  little  dark  grey  cowl,  is  a  very  good 


188 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


reason  for  its  name.  It  grows  so  freely,  that  it  lias 
run  wild  in  England ;  but  not  so  the  columbine,  which 
I  believe  to  be  a  native  flower  made  into  a  garden  one. 
It  is  an  especial  favourite  with  me,  for  the  beauty  of 
its  form ;  it  has  no  calyx,  but  five  purple,  or  pink¬ 
spreading  petals,  set  on  alternately  with  five  nectaries, 
each  with  a  little  spur  curved  downwards,  all  shutting 
in  from  thirty  to  forty  stamens,  and  five  germs,  the 
flowers  hanging  down  like  bells  from  a  tall  stalk  that 
rises  among  spreading  bluish  pinnate  leaves.  The  nec¬ 
taries  are  the  special  beauty  of  the  flower,  shaped  ex¬ 
actly,  to  my  mind,  like  an  Indian  slipper,  with  the  toe 
turned  up  in  a  point,  and  no  heel.  Others,  however, 
think  them  like  five  little  doves  drinking,  with  the 
petals  for  wings ;  and  thus  the  flower  received  its 
name  of  columbine,  from  the  Latin  name,  Columba,  a 
dove.  Others,  again,  made  the  five  doves  into  eagles, 
and  calling  it  Acpiilegia,  from  Aquila,  an  eagle ;  but 
slippers,  doves,  or  eagles,  there  are  the  pretty  nec¬ 
taries,  purple,  pink,  or  white,  and  I  hope  you  will 
make  acquaintance  with  them  next  summer,  if  you 
don’t  know  them  already.  The  only  white  one  I  ever 
knew  is  in  our  garden,  and  I  have  a  great  liking  for 
it.  Shall  I  tell  you  why  ?  Because  a  little  school¬ 
girl  dug  it  up  in  the  woods,  and  brought  it  to  me,  after 
I  had  admired  its  blossom  in  one  of  her  “  Sunday 
nosegays.” 

The  yellow  meadow-rue  is  of  this  class,  and  so  is 
the  clematis,  a  climbing  plant,  of  which  there  is  one 
very  handsome  garden  kind.  There  is  no  corolla,  but 
in  this  sort,  the  calyx  is  very  large  and  purple.  The 
seeds  are  very  numerous,  and  each  has  a  long  silky 
tail.  The  stems  twist  and  twine,  and  hang  in  masses, 
and  thus  the  Latin  name  clematis,  means  a  vine- 


CRUCIFORM  FLOWERS. 


189 


shoot.  The  most  common  garden  sort  has  a  white 
calyx,  and  is  called  Virgin’s  bower ;  it  makes  a  very 
pretty  shelter  for  a  garden-gate,  or  climbs  over  an 
arbour,  looking  like  a  modest,  cool  screen.  The 
pleasantest  of  the  family  is  our  own  Englishman,  the 
Traveller’s-joy ;  is  not  that  a  nice  name  for  this  grace¬ 
ful  climber?  which  especially  delights  in  hedges,  “by 
the  dusty  way-side  drear,”  scrambling  over  them,  and 
putting  out  such  profusion  of  its  greenish  white 
blossoms,  to  freshen  them  up  when  the  early  summer- 
flowers  are  over.  On  it  holds,  through  all  the  autumn, 
and  when  its  seeds  begin  to  ripen,  out  they  hang  their 
long  white  silk  feathers,  till  the  whole  plant  is  like  a 
white  whig,  or  as  we  country  folks  call  it,  “  old  man’s 
beard.”  It  really  is  like  the  hedges  putting  on  hoary 
locks  for  the  old  age  of  the  year.  Old  man’s  beard 
grows  to  a  great  age  and  size.  I  am  almost  afraid 
to  say  what  an  immense  cable  of  it,  fairly  turned  into 
wood,  I  have  seen  hanging  from  one  old  crooked  thorn 
to  another. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CLASS  XV. — CRUCIFORM  FLOWERS. 

From  plants  arranged  by  the  number  of  their  stamens, 
we  go  to  those  whose  class  is  settled  according  to  their 
length. 

If  you  look  back  to  the  seventh  chapter,  among  the 
last  bells  of  summer,  you  will  find  an  account  of  class 
xiv.,  by  the  name  of  Labiate  Flowers.  It  always  has 
four  stamens,  one  pair  long,  and  one  pair  short,  and  the 
corolla  is  always  arranged  so  as  to  cover  them  in  a 
helmet  shape,  with  its  single  petal. 


190 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


The  next,  class  xv.,  contains  a  great  number  of 
flowers,  all  exactly  of  the  same  shape,  and  that  shape 
one  that  we  regard  with  the  same  kind  of  honour  as 
the  trefoil,  namely,  the  cross.  These  cross-shaped,  or 
cruciform  flowers,  Avell  deserve  the  mark  set  on  them ; 
for  though  in  general  they  are  not  noted  for  their  beauty, 
they  are  some  of  our  most  valuable  plants,  and  not  one 
of  the  whole  tribe  is  unwholesome. 

It  will  be  best  to  begin  with  the  largest  of  the  race, 
as  the  parts  can  be  seen  in  them  more  distinctly.  They 
are  of  the  few  that  are  cultivated  for  the  sake  of  their 
blossoms,  though  they  only  become  prized  in  gardens, 
when  their  cross-shape  has  been  destroyed  by  doubling 
the  petals,  so  that  they  will  never  produce  seed.  And 
here  a  thought  comes  into  my  head,  that  if  a  Christian 
seeks  after  the  admiration  of  this  world,  he  tries  to  win 
it  by  hiding  his  cross,  and  making  the  most  of  such  of 
his  gifts  as  are  indeed  showy,  but  were  meant  to  shelter 
and  aid  the  good  seed  within,  not  to  ruin  and  starve  it. 

These  cross-shaped  flowers  are  the  wall-flower  and 
the  stock.  If  you  live  in  an  old  town,  or  near  some 
grey  ruin,  you  will  be  sure  to  see  the  yellow  crosses  of 
the  wall-flower  waving  where  perhaps  St.  George’s 
red-cross  pennon  streamed  in  former  times,  or  if  you 
have  a  garden  at  all,  I  think  you  cannot  fail  to  have  a 
single  wall-flower  in  it.  You  see  it  has  four  petals 
spreading  out  in  a  very  prettily  shaped  cross,  much 
like  that  which  the  knights  of  St.  John  used  to  wear 
on  their  mantles.  Pull  out  one  of  these  petals,  and 
you  find  that  it  is  suddenly  narrowed  into  a  colourless 
strip,  which  fastens  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  deep  cup- 
shaped  calyx,  consisting  of  four  leaflets.  Within  are 
six  stamens,  four  long,  and  two  short,  so  unlike  those 
of  the  sixth  class,  that -you  could  never  take  one  of 


CRUCIFORM  FLOWERS. 


m 

these  cruciform  flowers  for  one  of  the  lily  race ;  and  in 
the  middle  we  find  a  pistil,  a  very  long  and  narrow 
germ,  very  short  style,  and  a  little  two-cleft  stigma. 
These  parts  you  will  find  in  every  one  of  the  fifteenth 
class,  cruciform  corolla,  four  long,  and  two  short 
stamens,  and  a  single  pistil.  In  about  half  of  them 
the  germ  becomes  a  silicle,  not  very  unlike  the  pea-pod 
in  shape,  but  always  different  in  two  respects,  that 
whereas  the  seeds  of  the  butterfly-flowers  are  fastened 
to  the  same  side  of  the  case  all  the  way  down,  those  of  the 
cruciform  plants  are  fixed  by  turns  to  each  side,  and  the 
reason  of  this  is,  that  when  the  pod  opens  to  shed  its 
seed,  it  splits  only  on  one  side,  from  top  to  bottom, 
while  the  silicle  separates  at  the  bottom,  the  side  of  the 
seed-vessel  curls  up  with  its  own  share  of  seeds,  and 
the  stigma  at  the  top  alone  holds  them  together. 

When  taken  down  from  its  wall,  and  grown  in  good 
soil,  the  wall-flower  becomes  much  larger,  and  spots  of 
deep  red  (the  colour  of  the  calyx)  spread  on  its  petals. 
In  time  it  is  doubled,  and  entirely  red,  and  becomes  a 
very  handsome  flower,  under  the  name  of  bloody-war  - 
rior,  the  glory  of  old  English  gardens,  and  the  great 
ornament  of  May-garlands.  There  are  yellow  and 
pink  varieties,  but  none  so  noble-looking  as  the  old- 
fashioned  bloody-warrior,  his  head  nodding  with  the 
weight  of  its  numerous  dark  double  blossoms. 

No  one  can  rival  him  but  his  cousin  the  stock,  or 
July  flower,  as  it  is  sometimes  called,  a  grand  sight  in 
its  full  splendour  of  crimson,  or  white  double  blossoms. 
There  is  a  little  wild  English  stock,  but  I  believe  the 
parent  of  all  these  handsome  varieties  came  from 
Germany. 

Of  the  cruciform  plants  in  our  gardens,  there  is  one 
race,  however,  far  more  important — nay,  which  give 


192 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


their  name  to  gardens  in  Scotland,  and  which,  accord¬ 
ing  to  their  date,  may  claim  precedence  over  the  po- 
tatoe.  They  have  yellow  blossoms  when  they  are  al¬ 
lowed  to  flower  at  all,  but  this  is  not  by  any  means 
what  is  required  of  them.  Of  one  or  two  kinds  we  do 
indeed  eat  the  young  blossom  buds,  but  for  the  most 
part  we  chiefly  value  the  leaves  and  the  roots. 

This  race  is  that  properly  known  as  colewort,  in 
Scotland,  kail.  One  kind,  which  bears  large  leaves, 
veined  with  fleshy  foot-stalks,  was  coaxed  into  doubling 
leaf  over  leaf,  in  a  large  round  solid  leaf-bud,  white 
within,  and  this,  on  its  very  short  thick  stumpy  stem, 
in  many  a  row  in  the  garden,  is  called — need  I  tell  you 
what  ?  Another  variety  reddened  its  leaves  to  a  beau¬ 
tiful  deep  crimson.  Another  learnt  to  form  immense 
heads  of  little  young  blossom  buds,  pressed  close  to¬ 
gether,  and  whitened  by  the  shade  of  the  embracing 
leaves ;  another  shot  out  smaller  heads  of  these  same 
buds,  more  dispersed,  less  shaded,  and  therefore  greener. 

Pigs  and  ducks,  white  butterflies,  and  children,  say 
what  are  the  names  of  these  varieties  of  the  brassica,  or 
colewort.  I  dare  say  you  little  knew  how  closely  were 
related  your  friends  the  cabbage,  cauliflower,  and 
broccoli,  or  what  part  it  is  of  the  last  two  that  you  eat. 
In  Germany,  the  cabbage  is  thought  so  entirely  the 
chief  herb,  that  it  is  called  kraut,  the  word  for  a  vege¬ 
table,  and  there  a  preparation  is  made  with  it,  which 
would  not  be  at  all  to  our  taste.  It  is  kept  in  a  tub, 
till  it  becomes  what  we  should  consider  fit  for  the  pigs, 
but  the  Germans  think  it  excellent,  and  feast  on  it  under 
tire  name  of  sour-kraut.  Another  colewort  has  lately 
been  brought  from  Germany,  under  the  name  of  kohl- 
rabbi,  which  swells  its  stem,  a  little  way  above  ground, 
into  a  great  purple  excrescence,  like  a  fruit,  of  which 


CRUCIFORM  FLOWERS. 


193 


cattle  in  some  places  are  said  to  be  very  fond.  But  there 
is  another,  far  better  known,  which  makes  the  same 
sort  of  swelling  under  ground,  hanging  small  fibrous 
roots  down  from  it. 

Do  you  know  it  ?  Grown  in  gardens  ;  it  is  very  good 
food  for  ourselves,  especially  in  broth,  or  with  boiled 
meat ;  it  is  not  at  all  bad  eaten  raw,  and  it  can  also, 
upon  occasion,  be  hollowed  out  into  a  lantern.  In 
fields,  it  is  cultivated  for  the  winter  food  of  cows ;  and 
everyone  lias  seen  a  flock  of  sheep  slowly  progressing 
across  a  great  field,  shut  in  by  their  hurdles  till  they 
have  properly  finished  the  allotted  portion  for  the  day, 
and  left  nothing  but  a  few  hollow  old  shells,  in  which 
however  the  life  is  so  strong,  that  uprooted  as  they  lie, 
the  first  warmth  and  damp  of  spring  will  make  them 
shoot  out  green  leaves.  Even  piles  which  have  been 
housed,  far  from  soil  and  light,  put  forth  young  shoots 
in  spring,  which  some  people  think  particularly  good. 
The  reason  they  sprout  thus  readily,  is  the  quantity  of 
nourishment  contained  in  that  moist  fleshy  part  of  the 
stem,  which  we  call  the  turnip.  They  sometimes  grow 
very  large ;  and  I  have  heard  of  an  agricultural  dinner 
in  Norfolk,  where  the  pride  of  the  farmers  is  to  have 
small  cattle  and  large  turnips,  at  which  a  round  of  beef 
was  served  up,  enclosed  within  a  huge  turnip. 

The  radish  comes  next  in  order  after  the  turnip,  and 
most  children  who  have  had  a  little  garden  of  their  own, 
have  pleasant  recollections  of  sowing  the  seed,  thinning 
the  pretty  young  plants,  and  ending  by  filling  a  plate 
with  the  beautiful  crimson  taper  roots,  so  shining  and 
polished  in  water,  so  ornamental  when  disposed  in 
the  rays  of  a  circle,  and  so  crisp  and  pungent  to  the 
taste. 

I  dare  say  the  mustard  grew  next  to  the  radish  in 

13 


194 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


those  little  beds,  and  perhaps  you  might  have  sown  it 
so  as  to  form  your  initials,  so  as  to  see  them  springing 
up  in  tender  green  on  the  brown  earth.  It  wrill  grow 
almost  anywhere,  even  upon  flannel,  or  a  cork,  floating 
in  a  soup-plate  of  water,  where,  I  think,  you  would  be 
amused  to  watch  the  stem  and  root  burst  forth  from  the 
seed.  It  will  teach  you  the  constant  law,  that  every 
seed  puts  out  a  root  downwards,  and  a  stem  upwards. 
Turn  it  upside  down  as  you  may,  stem  will  always  be 
up,  root  always  down.  A  different  species  of  mustard 
is  grown  at  Durham  and  Tewkesbury,  whose  seeds  are 
made  into  that  pungent  compound  which  often  brings 
tears  into  the  eyes  of  those  who  sting  themselves  a  little 
more  than  they  intended.  The  mustard  has  a  yellow 
cruciform  flower. 

Water-cresses,  growing  cool  and  sheltered  in  clear 
running  streams,  have  a  very  small  white  blossom.  I 
don’t  think  country  people  care  so  much  about  them  as 
dwellers  in  towns,  to  whom  their  fresh  green  dampness 
is  a  treat.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  how  often  a  few 
pence  may  have  been  earned  in  time  of  sore  need  by 
some  good  little  water-cress  gatherer. 

Almost  all  the  cruciform  plants  have  white  or  yellow 
blossoms,  and  very  few  have  such  as  make  any  show. 
There  is  certainly  the  purple  rocket  in  gardens ;  and 
wild,  we  have  that  flower  which  we  prize  for  showing 
its  silver  cross  so  early  in  spring,  the  cardamine,  or 
lady’s  smock,  or,  as  some  call  it,  the  cuckoo  flower,  be¬ 
cause  it  is  scattered  so  freely  over  the  meadows  just 
when  the  cuckoo  sings. 

Hedge-mustard,  also  called  Jack-by-the-hedge,  or 
sauce-alone,  is  a  tall  plant,  with  flat  heads  of  very 
small  white  flowers  and  large  leaves,  that  leave  a  very 
unpleasant  smell  on  the  hands  of  those  who  touch  it.  It 


CRUCIFORM  FLOWERS. 


195 


looks  best  late  in  autumn,  when  its  thin,  brown,  trans¬ 
parent  silicles  stand  high  in  the  hedge,  lighted  up  by 
the  setting  sun,  as  if  nothing,  however  humble,  that 
has  done  its  work  well,  was  to  be  left  without  some 
glory. 

Another  division  of  cruciform  flowers  do  not  bear  the 
long  pod-like  silicle,  but  have  seed-vessels  of  various 
shapes,  some  of  them  very  pretty,  such  as  the  little 
hearts  of  the  tiny  sheplierd’s-purse,  which  open  on  each 
side  to  let  out  their  treasure.  It  has  a  very  small  white 
flower,  and  is  now  regarded  in  gardens  as  a  trouble¬ 
some  weed,  though  it  was  once  esteemed  as  good  for 
medicine.  Another  of  the  same  genus,  the  treacle- 
mustard,  has  a  long  spike  of  seed-vessels,  rounded  at 
the  top,  and  turned  upwards  in  a  curious  manner  on 
their  stems. 

Two  more  deserve  mention,  the  candy-tuft  in  our 
gardens,  which  comes  from  southern  Europe,  and  the 
tall  lilac  honesty,  sometimes  called  moonwort,  from  the 
circular  form  of  its  great  flat  seed-vessels — perfect 
shields,  to  guard  the  plant,  I  supj)ose,  in  rendering  to 
earth  its  honest  tribute  of  seed,  in  return  for  summer 
moisture. 

Most  of  this  sober  and  estimable,  though  far  from 
brilliant  family,  are  annual ;  not  one  has  wood  or  bark 
like  a  tree,  and  scarcely  one  genus  will  live  out  of  tem¬ 
perate  climates. 


196 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CLASS  XVI. — BROTHERHOODS  OF  STAMENS, 

The  next  three  classes  are  arranged  according  to  the 
parcels,  or  brotherhoods,  into  which  their  stamens  are 
divided.  The  first  of  these,  class  xvi.,  or  “  one  brother¬ 
hood,”  has  all  its  stamens  united  into  one  column  round 
the  pistil,  the  filaments  having  grown  together  at  their 
base,  and  only  separating  so  as  to  hang  out  their  nu¬ 
merous  anthers. 

There  are  several  very  interesting  plants  belonging 
to  this  tribe,  and  the  first  which  we  will  mention,  be¬ 
cause  it  lias  the  fewest  anthers,  is  one  that  has  a 
glorious  name,  the  beautiful  Passion  Flower.  It  is  a 
South  American  plant,  but  will  grow  freely  in  Eng¬ 
land,  so  that  even  cottage  walls  may  be  wreathed  with 
its  climbing  stems,  twisting  tendrils,  and  hand-like 
leaves.  It  is  so  curious,  that  I  will  give  you  a  close 
description  of  it,  which  you  may  compare  with  the 
flower  when  it  is  in  blossom.  The  calyx  does  not,  as 
usual,  form  the  bud ;  there  are  three  large  pale  leaves, 
or  bracts,  just  outside,  which  fold  over  the  blossom  and 
hide  its  mysteries  till  they  are  ready  to  unclose.  With¬ 
in  these  are  the  corolla  and  calyx,  each  consisting  of 
five  divisions,  and  so  much  of  the  same  colour,  that  we 
should  take  them  all  alike  for  petals,  if  botanists  did  not 
tell  us  to  think  otherwise ;  the  calyx  leaflets  may  be 
distinguished  from  the  petals  by  an  odd  little  horn 
growing  on  the  back  of  each.  Within  is  the  especial 
glory  of  the  flower,  a  circle  of  fleshy  threads,  spreading 


BROTHERHOODS  OF  STAMENS. 


197 


out  like  rays,  and  marked  with  brilliant  blue,  black, 
crimson,  and  white.  Some  sorts  have  ring  within  ring, 
growing  gradually  shorter,  till  they  end  round  the 
column  in  the  centre,  where  on  one  stem,  as  it  may  be 
called,  grow  both  stamens  and  pistils,  five  yellow  an¬ 
thers,  arranged  in  a  circle,  and  not,  like  other  anthers, 
opening  their  boxes  of  pollen  downwards,  but  holding 
them  upwards.  Why  is  this  ?  How  is  the  pollen  to 
reach  the  germ,  if  it  is  not  as  usual  poured  down? 
Behold,  it  is  one  of  the  beautiful  contrivances  in  nature  ! 
The  germ  is  above  the  anther-box,  instead  of  below ; 
it  is  a  little  swelling  on  the  top  of  the  column,  bearing 
three  large,  round-headed  stigmas,  and  in  time  will  be¬ 
come  a  fleshy,  egg-shaped,  orange-coloured  fruit,  con¬ 
taining  a  number  of  seeds.  Here,  it  does  not  often 
ripen,  and  would  not  be  very  good  if  it  did  ;  but  in  its 
native  home  it  is  much  esteemed,  and  called  the  Gre- 
nadilla,  or  little  pomegranate. 

But  the  Spaniards,  who  first  gave  it  the  name,  saw 
more  in  it  than  its  use  to  man,  or  its  beauty  and  curious 
structure.  They  deemed  that  a  banner  of  the  Redemp¬ 
tion  had  been  planted  by  the  Maker  Himself,  where  no 
Christian  had  set  foot,  as  if  in  promise  that  the  West 
as  well  as  the  East  should  hear  the  tidings  of  salvation. 
On  the  roofs  of  churches,  or  on  shields  borne  by  carved 
angels,  we  often  see  represented  the  instruments  of  the 
Passion  of  our  Blessed  Lord,  the  pillar  where  He  was 
scourged,  the  crown  of  thorns,  the  nails  that  rent  His 
flesh,  and  the  five  bleeding  wounds  with  which  He  was 
pierced ;  and  the  parts  of  this  flower  reminded  those 
who  named  it  of  these  representations.  The  column 
within  the  flower  they  called  the  pillar ;  the  three 
stigmas,  the  nails ;  the  five  stamens,  the  wounds ;  and 
in  the  leaves  and  tendrils  they  saw  other  likenesses. 


198 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


It  was  a  very  beautiful  thought,  and,  no  doubt,  helped 
many  to  pious  recollections ;  but  remember  one  thing, 
these  resemblances  must  not  be  talked  of  lightly,  or  in 
play,  or  you  had  better  never  have  been  told  of  them 
at  all.  Look  at  the  flower  by  yourself,  and  think  of 
the  meanings  gravely,  or  show  them  to  any  friend  who 
is  in  earnest  and  reverent ;  but  never  chatter  idly 
about  them,  as  if  they  were  only  something  strange 
and  curious. 

The  next  of  these  plants,  with  brotherly  stamens,  are 
the  cranes’ -bills.  These  follow  the  old  rule  of  five  : 
five  leaflets  to  the  calyx,  five  heart-shaped  petals,  five 
long  and  five  short  stamens,  all  closely  joined  round 
the  five-furrowed  germ,  five  slender  united  styles,  and 
graceful  stigmas.  They  are  called  cranes’-bills  from 
their  seed-vessel,  from  which  the  styles  project  in  one 
long,  brown,  dry  point,  like  the  beak  of  a  bird,  until, 
becoming  quite  ripe,  they  curl  up,  and  open  the  germ, 
whence  the  seed  leaps  out  with  a  pop. 

Their  petals  are  most  beautifully  veined  with  little 
vessels  through  which  they  breathe,  that  is,  let  the  air 
pass.  All  corollas  have  these  vessels,  but  they  are  more 
evident  in  the  cranes’-bills  than  in  most  others,  because 
the  texture  is  peculiarly  delicate.  The  commonest  of 
all  these  is  Herb  Robert,  the  pink  crane’s-bill  that 
grows  in  every  hedge  in  autumn,  putting  out  a  pretty 
veined  flower,  that  sometimes  is  confused  under  the 
general  name  of  Robin,  with  the  two  lychnises  of  the 
tenth  class,  Ragged  Robin,  and  meadow  campion, 
though  a  little  observation  will  soon  show  the  difference. 
Herb  Robert  is  much  more  delicate  than  either,  and  has 
always  a  bright  red  stein,  and  leaves  much  cut  and 
divided.  The  dove’s-foot  crane’s-bill,  which  creeps  about 
in  the  dusty  way-sides,  has  a  still  more  elaborately 


BROTHERHOODS  OF  STAMENS. 


199 


divided  leaf ;  I  would  defy  the  cleverest  cutter  of  lace 
paper  to  make  anything  so  prettily-formed  as  its  branch¬ 
ing  leaves.  The  flower  is  very  small,  and  pale  pink, 
and  lias  a  smell  of  Indian  ink.  The  beautiful  pencilled 
crane’s-bill  is  larger  ;  it  is  white,  and  its  veins  are 
marked  with  delicate  streaks  of  lilac,  while  its  stigmas 
form  a  beautiful  tuft ;  but  the  handsomest  of  all  is  the 
great  purple  meadow  crane’s-bill,  which  is  to  be  found 
in  profusion  in  the  northern  and  midland  parts  of  Eng¬ 
land,  though  in  the  south  it  will  only  grow  in  gardens. 

The  Latin  name  of  the  crane’s-bill  is  Geranium,  and 
this  was  at  first  given  to  certain  beautiful  large  cranes’ - 
bills  that  were  brought  from  the  Cape,  but  afterwards 
botanists  considered  that  the  cottony  wings  of  the  seeds 
of  the  foreigners  deserved  to  be  made  into  another 
genus,  which  they  called  Pelargonium.  However,  the 
plants  had  become  such  household  friends,  that  homely 
people  could  not  bring  themselves  to  the  new  name, 
so  to  this  day  we  commonly  call  them  geraniums.  I 
know  nothing  about  their  fine  names,  nor  of  the  new 
sorts  that  gardeners  are  always  raising  from  seed,  and 
sending  to  shows.  They  are  very  grand,  no  doubt, 
especially  those  that  are  sometimes  exhibited  at  Chis¬ 
wick,  as  large  as  a  currant  bush,  and  covered  with 
blossoms  all  round ;  but  what  I  like,  and  look  upon  as 
home  friends  and  pets,  are  the  precious  old  plants  that 
have  stood  for  years  and  years  in  some  window,  prized, 
perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  the  giver,  or  the  old  home  from 
which  they  have  been  brought,  and,  it  may  be,  watered 
and  tended  almost  like  children  by  some  feeble  old 
lady  who  has  hardly  strength  to  totter  from  one  flower¬ 
pot  to  another,  to  pull  off  their  fragrant  leaves  as  soon 
as  they  have  once  shown  a  faded  edge  of  yellow.  Or 
perhaps  one  geranium  plant  is  the  companion  and 


200 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


friend  of  some  liard-working  girl,  who  keeps  it  in  her 
town  window  to  put  her  in  mind  of  the  green  leaves 
and  kind  friends  she  left  far  away  in  the  country. 
Those  are  the  really  choice  geraneys,  as  the  children 
call  them,  far  choicer  than  the  new  varieties  that  are 
only  cared  for  because  they  are  new  and  scarce.  Yet  I 
will  not  say  that  it  is  not  a  very  nice  pleasure  in  gar¬ 
dening  to  sow  the  seeds,  and  watch  whether  they  will 
come  up  some  different  kind,  or  the  old  original  sort,  to 
which  nine  out  of  ten  will  return,  though  chosen  from 
very  different  plants. 

The  oldest  kinds,  from  which  all  the  rest  have 
sprung,  are,  I  believe,  the  nutmeg  geranium,  a  very 
sweet-smelling  one,  the  two  upper  petals  red,  and  the 
lower,  white  and  streaked  ;  the  oak-leaved,  which  has 
a  very  deeply-lobed  leaf,  and  a  white  blossom,  spotted 
with  deep  rich  purple  on  the  upper  petals,  though  not 
nearly  so  large  as  that  fine,  white,  purple-marked  kind, 
which  I  admire  the  most  of  all  the  new  ones  ;  and 
lastly,  the  dear  old  horse-shoe,  or  scarlet  geranium. 
This  everyone  knows,  for  its  dazzling  head  of  brilliant 
blossoms,  and  that  most  delicious  of  all  leaves,  so  soft, 
so  downy,  so  elegantly  shaped  and  cut,  and  so  grace¬ 
fully  marked  with  the  dark  line.  Even  grand  gardeners 
cannot  do  without  it ;  they  train  it  to  the  top  of  tlieir 
hot-houses,  or  pin  it  down  in  flower-beds,  so  as  to  make 
it  form  one  sheet  of  scarlet,  almost  too  bright  to  look  at. 

The  other  brotherhoods  are  much  larger  families  ;  so 
many  as  to  be  beyond  counting,  but  as  closely  joined 
as  ever.  The  largest  of  these  that  we  often  see,  is  the 
tall  holyoak,  a  grand-looking  plant  brought  from  China, 
and  spiring  up  almost  like  a  tree,  with  large  leaves 
below,  and  handsome  great  red,  yellow,  or  white  flowers 
on  a  long  spike,  or  even  of  a  very  dark  colour,  which  is 


BROTHERHOODS  OF  STAMENS. 


201 


sometimes  called  black,  but  only  by  way  of  a  boast. 
1  have  never  been  able  to  find  out  the  reason  of  the 
name,  holyoak  ;  I  am  inclined  to  believe  it  is  two  or 
three  Chinese  words  run  together.  The  tuft  of  anthers 
and  stigmas  are  very  handsome  when  the  flower  lias 
not  been  doubled,  and  all  grow  out  of  a  sort  of  rounded, 
yet  flattish  germ.  When  the  flower  is  faded,  the  tuft 
shrivels  up,  and  the  germ,  packed  up  in  the  five  calyx- 
leaflets,  swells  into  a  shape  a  good  deal  like  a  large 
button,  which  some  children  call  a  cheese.  If  cut  in 
two,  the  parts  are  so  regularly  arranged,  as  to  be  like 
a  star. 

Children  like  to  eat  the  cheeses  of  our  English 
mallow,  which  is  nearly  related  to  the  holyoak,  and  the 
plant  used  to  be  much  esteemed  for  use  in  medicine, 
mallow  leaves  being  thought  very  healing.  We  have 
three  wild  sorts — the  common,  a  lilac,  striped  darkly  ; 
the  musk  mallow,  a  pretty  pale-pink,  its  leaves  much 
divided  ;  and  the  dwarf,  white,  striped  with  lilac,  much 
haunting  dusty  way-sides.  There  is  a  handsome 
garden  flower  called  the  Malope,  a  very  dark  crimson, 
coming  from  the  Mauritius  ;  a  shrub  called  the  Althea  ; 
and  a  genus  named  Hibiscus,  to  which  belongs  a  great 
favourite  of  mine,  the  African  Hibiscus,  called  Black- 
eyed  Susan,  a  primrose-coloured  flower,  with  a  very 
deep  dark  eye.  The  seeds  of  this  genus  do  not  grow 
into  cheeses,  but  are  round,  and  enclosed  within  a  case. 
All  the  tribe  love  sunshine,  and  shut  up  their  petals  at 
night,  or  in  bad  weather. 


202 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

class  xvi. — brotherhoods  of  stamens — continued. 

We  must  not  leave  this  class  till  we  have  mentioned 
two  plants  that  we  have  never  seen,  though  none, 
except  the  wheat,  are  of  such  daily  use  to  us.  I  dare 
say  you  scarcely  have  a  garment  on,  at  this  moment, 
some  part  of  which  is  not  composed  of  the  first  of  these. 
The  cotton-plant,  I  mean,  the  plant  which  caused  the 
first  Phoenicians,  who  sailed  round  the  Cape,  to  be  taken 
for  deceivers,  when  they  reported  that  they  had  seen 
wool  growing  on  trees,  as  well  as  the  sun  in  the  north 
at  noon-day.  We  perceive  in  these  days,  that  this 
report  of  the  voyage  is  the  very  proof  that  they  had 
really  gone  where  they  professed. 

The  cotton-plant  is  a  shrub  which  naturally  grows 
to  be  about  eight  or  ten  feet  high  ;  but  where  it  is 
grown  for  use,  it  is  kept  down  to  the  height  of  a  cur¬ 
rant  bush.  There  are  thirteen  different  kinds,  one  of 
which  is  a  creeper,  and  another  a  tree ;  but  the  most 
useful  sort  is  the  shrub.  It  bears  a  pretty  yellow 
flower,  with  a  dark  eye,  and  this  gives  place  to  a  pod, 
where  the  seeds  are  embedded  in  the  soft  white  sub¬ 
stance,  which  we  call  cotton-wool.  You  know  it,  I 
dare  say,  and  keep  your  treasures  in  it,  your  tender 
shells,  or  little  glass  curiosities ;  or  you  peep  in  at 
brooches  lying  on  a  bed  of  it ;  or,  possibly,  if  you  ever 
scalded  or  burnt  your  finger,  it  lias  been  packed  up  in 
it  to  keep  out  the  air.  This  cotton-wool  has,  however, 
been  carefully  cleaned,  and  all  the  seeds  picked  out ;  I 
have  seen  some  as  it  came  fresh  from  the  pod,  looking 


BROTHERHOODS  OF  STAMENS. 


203 


much  rougher,  and  less  white.  Perhaps,  however, 
this  acquired  its  dirt  in  the  packing,  for  it  comes  to 
England  in  great  canvass  sacks,  two  or  three  yards 
long,  and  more  than  a  yard  in  width.  A  man  gets 
into  this  great  bag,  which  is  kept  open  by  being 
fastened  to  posts,  and  is  supplied  with  cotton,  which  he 
treads  down  as  hard  as  possible,  trampling  on  it,  and 
forcing  it  into  every  corner,  till  he  rises  gradually  on  it 
to  the  top,  and  light  as  cotton  is,  one  bag  holds  three  or 
four  hundred  pounds. 

Cotton  is  grown  in  almost  every  hot  country  ;  in  so 
many  indeed,  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  count  them 
up.  It  is  manufactured  in  great  quantities  in  England, 
and  those  children  are  happy  who  have  only  to  do  with 
the  wearing,  instead  of  the  spinning  and  weaving.  In 
former  times,  poor  children  were  dreadfully  overwork¬ 
ed,  and  though  much  has  been  done  by  law  to  prevent 
them  from  being  kept  in  the  cotton-mills  for  too  many 
hours  a  day,  it  must  be  a  sad  thing  to  live  in  the  din  of 
machinery,  and  in  close  narrow  streets,  instead  of  plea¬ 
sant  country  homes.  However,  we  know — 

“  That  Love’s  a  flower  that  will  not  die 
For  lack  of  leafy  screen  ; 

And  Christian  hope  may  cheer  the  eye 
That  ne’er  saw  vernal  green.” 

And  there  is  nothing  really  to  prevent  a  manufacturing 
child  from  being  as  good  as  a  country  child  ought  to  be, 
though  there  are,  I  am  afraid,  many  more  temptations 
in  its  way. 

It  is  only  within  the  last  fifty  years  that  cotton  has 
become  so  cheap  and  common  ;  and  it  is  a  very  good 
thing  in  one  way,  since  no  one  has  any  excuse  now  for 
not  being  clean,  as  they  had  when  there  was  nothing 
but  linen,  which,  though  stronger  and  better,  cannot 


204 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


be  made  so  cheaply.  Ask  any  elderly  person  to  tell 
you  the  price  that  Sunday  dresses  used  to  be,  and  it 
will  surprise  you,  though  you  will  generally  hear  them 
say,  at  the  same  time,  that  those  gowns  would  wear 
out  half-a-dozen  of  such  as  we  have  now.  And  they 
were  certainly  much  prettier  and  better  printed,  as  old 
patch-work  will  testify.  I  could  show  you  such  roses, 
and  such  a  choice  pattern  of  strange,  indescribable 
things,  which  I  have  studied  many  an  hour  before  it 
was  time  to  get  up  ;  besides  the  old  inherited  scraps 
that  are  still  kept  in  a  bag,  where  they  were  long  ago 
stored,  as  too  beautiful  and  precious  to  be  cut  or 
used. 

India  was  the  first  place  where  cotton  was  much  used 
for  clothing,  as  the  name  of  calico,  from  the  town  of 
Calicut,  reminds  us ;  while  muslin  was  named  from 
Mosul,  on  the  Tigris.  Though  we  make  muslins  here, 
they  are  still  not  equal  to  those  which  are  woven  in 
India,  by  men  with  a  hand-loom ;  and  afterwards  em¬ 
broidered,  likewise  by  men,  who  walk  about  with  the 
delicate  muslin  rolled  round  their  body,  and  often  so 
begrimed,  that  it  is  wonderful  how  it  can  ever  be  made 
clean  again.  The  Indian  princes  wear  turbans  of 
muslin  so  fine,  and  of  such  a  length,  that  it  takes 
twenty  years  to  make  one  ;  and  as  to  their  wives, 
they  expect  their  muslin  robes  to  be  of  so  fine  a  tex¬ 
ture,  that  the  whole  dress  can  be  drawn  through  a 
ring. 

Last  of  all  these  brotherly  plants,  we  must  speak  of 
tea.  Everyone  knows  whence  it  comes,  so  I  will  not 
stop  to  tell  that.  It  is  a  shrubby  plant,  with  a  pale 
pink  blossom,  and  is  grown  in  great  plantations.  The 
young  leaves,  when  they  are  first  put  out  in  spring,  are 
gathered  carefully,  and  no  one  is  allowed  to  use  these 


BROTHERHOODS  OF  STAMENS. 


205 


but  the  emperor  himself.  The  next  crop,  the  Chinese 
keep  for  themselves,  and  only  sell  us  the  coarser  leaves, 
which  they  gather  at  the  time  of  the  grand  stripping 
of  the  trees.  Then  not  a  leaf  is  left,  and  as  some  of 
the  trees  grow  wild,  out  of  reach,  on  the  mountains, 
the  cunning  Chinese  have  a  way  of  getting  at  them 
which  you  would  never  have  guessed  at.  There  are 
plenty  of  monkeys  in  those  hills,  and  the  Chinese  go 
out  and  pelt  them  with  sticks  and  stones,  which  so  pro¬ 
vokes  them,  that  they  break  off  boughs  of  the  tea  trees 
to  return  the  compliment  to  the  men,  who  gladly  pick 
up  the  prize  and  strip  off  the  leaves. 

The  leaves  are  brought  into  the  shrivelled,  twisted 
state  in  which  we  have  them,  by  being  laid  on  hot  plates 
over  a  furnace.  It  has  always  been  a  question  whether 
the  green  and  black  teas  are  really  different  sorts,  or 
whether  the  green  is  coloured  by  being  dried  on  copper 
plates,  or  by  some  colouring  matter.  I  believe  the 
truth  is,  that  there  is  a  real  green  kind,  but  that  it  is 
rare,  and  they  generally  sell  us  the  false,  painted  green 
tea. 

For  their  own  use,  they  make  the  tea  up  into  balls, 
or  fagots  of  small  twisted  sticks,  and  instead  of  using 
a  tea-pot,  they  put  one  of  these  little  parcels  into  a  cup, 
and  pour  boiling  water  over  it.  The  cups  are  often  of 
beautifid  porcelain,  each  in  a  fillagree  gold  and  silver 
case.  They  use  no  milk  nor  sugar  with  it,  and  a  tray 
of  these  pretty  little  cups  of  strong  tea  is  carried  round 
to  welcome  every  visitor. 

As  to  the  old  tea  leaves,  they  make  them  up  in  the 
shape  of  bricks,  and  sell  them  to  the  Tartars,  and  though 
this  is  poor  stuff,  it  is  the  best  the  Tartars  can  get,  and 
they  are  so  fond  of  it  as  to  be  ready  to  take  it  in  pay¬ 
ment  for  anything  they  sell  to  the  Chinese. 


206 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


It  was  not  till  very  modern  days  that  tea  was  known 
in  Europe.  Mary  Beatrice,  the  wife  of  James  II.,  was 
the  first  of  our  queens  who  drank  tea ;  and  it  was  only 
a  treat  among  great  ladies  for  a  long  time.  In  com¬ 
mon,  people  breakfasted  on  beer  or  such  strong  drinks, 
or  else  on  milk-porridge  ;  and  there  are  many  stories 
of  ladies,  in  the  country,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with 
the  first  tea  they  saw  :  how  one  boiled  a  whole  pound, 
and  tried  to  cat  the  leaves  with  butter  and  salt ;  and 
another  tried  boiling  it  in  milk,  and  throwing  avTay  the 
liquor,  while  she,  too,  thought  the  leaves  the  part  to 
be  used. 

And  now,  it  would  hardly  seem  like  a  real  morning 
or  evening  meal  without  the  tea-pot ;  the  labourer  takes 
his  bottle  of  cold  tea  into  the  harvest  field ;  and  the  old 
woman  in  her  cottage  has  the  tea-pot  on  the  table,  and 
the  kettle  on  the  fire,  all  day  long.  Nay,  “tea”  is  a 
name  that  marks  the  hour  of  the  day,  and  the  tea-table 
is  the  very  centre  of  home,  when  families  are  most  apt 
to  be  all  together,  all  resting,  and  all  at  ease,  and  if 
there  is  one  absent,  it  is  the  very  time  to  be  missed. 
Or  if  one  is  unwell  and  up-stairs,  what  a  time  it  is  for 
friendly  messages  and  attendance  ;  and  how  happy  and 
important  some  little  nurse  feels  in  taking  that  first 
lesson  in  steadiness  and  trustworthiness,  the  carrying 
the  full  cup,  step  after  step,  without  one  drop  spilling 
over. 

And  shall  we  say  anything  to  school  children  about 
tea- drinkings  ?  Oh  !  we  have  said  too  much  already 
to  enter  on  those  delights  ! 


207 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

CLASS  XVIII. —  ORANGES. 

The  butterfly-flowers  form  the  seventeenth  class,  which 
have  their  stamens  in  two  brotherhoods,  or  more  pro¬ 
perly,  all  the  filaments  form  but  one  party,  except  a 
single  one,  which  remains  separate,  in  order  that  the 
pod  may  have  room  to  grow.  As  we  went  through 
the  butterfly  race  before,  we  need  say  no  more  about 
them  now,  but  go  on  to  the  next,  class  xviii.,  the  many 
brotherhoods. 

There  is  only  one  English  genus  belonging  to  this 
class,  namely,  the  St.  John’s  worts,  so  called  because 
they  blossom  about  St.  John’s  Day,  at  Midsummer. 
The  largest  species  is  called  Park  leaves,  and  raises  its 
handsome  head  above  a  long  straight  stem,  clothed  with 
leaves  in  regular  alternate  pairs,  in  almost  every  shrub¬ 
bery  ;  the  next  largest,  named  Tutsan,  from  the  French 
word  Toute-sain ,  all-heal,  grows  wild  by  the  sides  of 
woods,  and  has  a  blossom  about  the  size  of  a  primrose. 
The  lesser  kinds  grow  on  every  hedgerow,  heath,  and 
wood.  All  have  brilliant  yellow  blossoms,  divided  into 
five  petals,  a  larger  swelling  germ,  crowned  by  three 
stigmas,  and  an  infinite  number  of  stamens,  joined  to¬ 
gether  at  the  bottom  in  little  tufts  or  bunches,  so  that 
you  cannot  pull  out  one  without  the  rest  of  the  family. 
They  hold  together,  as  the  old  man  in  the  fable  taught 
his  sons  to  do,  by  the  example  of  the  fagot  of  sticks ; 
and  the  hair-like  filaments  crowned  with  dots  spread 
out  their  multitude,  like  a  glory  round  the  flower.  The 
fruit  is  a  red  berry  of  a  conical  shape,  which  you  may 


208 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


often  see  in  the  tutsan,  and  which  stains  the  fingers  so 
red,  that  the  old  English  name  of  the  plant  was  man’s 
blood.  The  leaves  are  very  curious,  as  you  will  see  if 
you  hold  them  up  to  the  light.  They  are  full  of  very 
small  dots,  just  like  little  holes  ;  indeed,  one  kind  is 
actually  called  the  perforated  St.  John’s  wort;  but  these 
are  not  really  holes,  only  little  vessels  filled  with  oil, 
which  gives  out  a  strong  smell  if  you  rub  the  leaf. 

This  perforated  St.  John’s  wort  is  a  very  pretty 
plant,  much  more  slender  and  graceful  than  the  square 
St.  John’s  wort,  knoAvn  by  its  very  hard  square  stem. 
The  small  upright  kind  is  the  especial  beauty,  growing- 
on  heaths,  like  a  little  golden  star  or  spangle,  on  its 
slight  crimson  stem ;  perhaps,  if  late  in  autumn,  bear¬ 
ing  a  small  red  fruit.  Nor  is  the  creeping  kind  to  be 
despised,  as  it  twists  and  stretches  over  wettish  places, 
though  not  so  deep  in  the  bog  as  the  next  sort,  the 
marsh  St.  John’s  wort,  which  never  opens  its  blossoms 
wide,  and  has  rough  leaves,  so  unlike  the  other  kinds, 
that  it  is  not  at  first  easy  to  tell  that  it  belongs  to 
the  same  genus,  all  the  rest  having  their  character  so 
strongly  marked. 

The  only  other  genus  to  be  mentioned  in  the  eigh¬ 
teenth  class  is  not  English.  It  is  the  citron,  or  orange 
family,  and  is  not  even  European  by  nature.  Such 
of  you  as  know  anything  will  be  surprised  at  this, 
for  you  hear  of  Lisbon  oranges,  and  Seville  oranges, 
and  Malta  oranges,  and,  perhaps,  even  of  the  orange 
groves  of  Spain  and  Italy.  But  though  old  books  have 
told  us  pretty  clearly  all  that  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
ate  and  drank,  and  we  know  how  the  Romans  brought 
their  corn  from  Sicily,  and  their  wine  from  Falernae, 
and  even  their  oysters  from  Britain,  we  never  hear 
anything  about  oranges.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  there 


ORANGES. 


209 


is  some  liint  of  golden  apples.  It  was  a  golden  apple, 
according  to  the  fable,  that  was  to  be  given  to  the 
fairest  of  the  three  goddesses.  Golden  apples  were 
said  to  grow  in  the  gardens  of  the  Hesperides,  beyond 
Mount  Atlas,  and  in  the  race  between  a  youth  and  the 
swiftest  maiden  upon  earth,  she  was  turned  from  her 
course  by  the  golden  apples  which  he  threw  down  be¬ 
fore  her.  Who  knows  if  some  stray  orange  had  not 
come  in  the  sight  of  the  Greeks  to  cause  these  stories  ? 
either  brought  by  the  Arabs  from  its  native  home  in 
China,  or  by  some  bold  Phoenician  mariner  from  the 
Fortunate  Isles  in  the  western  ocean,  about  which  they 
had  many  strange  stories,  and  which  we  call  the 
Canaries.  Orange  trees  were  growing  there  before 
the  Portuguese  visited  them,  and  some  of  the  best  in 
the  world  grow  there  now,  round  the  base  of  that  great 
sugar-loaf,  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe,  which  I  should  guess 
to  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful  places  in  the  world. 
The  best  oranges  for  eating  that  we  get,  come  from 
St.  Michael’s,  a  little  island  of  the  Azores ;  but  there 
are  many  others  imported  from  Spain  and  Portugal. 
The  red-juiced  blood  oranges  grow  in  Malta,  and  the 
delicious,  fragrant  little  Mandarin  orange,  is  chiefly 
grown  at  Tangier.  To  all  these  places  they  were  first 
brought  in  the  14th  or  15tli  centuries  from  China,  their 
original  birth-place. 

I  suppose  there  is  not  an  English  child  who  does 
not  know  the  taste  of  an  orange,  but  very  few  know 
the  appearance  of  an  orange  tree,  for  only  a  few  are 
grown  in  hot-liouses,  and  not  many  children  can  go  to 
see  them  there.  However,  if  you  wish  to  see  what 
sort  of  leaves  it  has,  you  need  only  soav  the  pips  of  the 
next  orange  you  eat,  in  a  pot  of  earth,  and  keep  it  all 
the  winter  in  the  window  of  a  room  with  a  fire  in  it, 

14 


210 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


and  iii  time  you  will  see  it  raise  a  shoot,  with  hand¬ 
some,  dark-green,  polished  leaves,  evergreen,  and  like 
the  St.  John’s  wort,  full  of  little  vessels  of  oil,  where 
resides  the  delightful  scent.  I  once  raised  three  little 
orange  trees  from  pips,  and  kept  one  of  them  some 
years  till  it  was  a  foot  high ;  then  I  gave  it  to  a  lady 
who  had  a  green-house,  and  I  don’t  know  what  became 
of  it  afterwards.  Orange  trees  are  very  beautiful  in  the 
warm  climates  that  suit  them ;  they  grow  higher  than 
an  apple  tree,  and  spread  out  their  rich  dark-green 
foliage,  mixed  with  the  white  flower.  The  calyx  is  a 
little  cup  with  five  teeth ;  the  corolla  is  in  five  white 
petals,  fleshy,  full  of  vessels  of  fragrant  oil,  and  some¬ 
times  dotted  with  green  ;  the  stamens  are  not  many, 
but  grow  united  into  little  bundles  out  of  a  ring  round 
the  base  of  the  round  swelling  germ.  The  stigma  is 
green,  and  the  anthers  bright  yellow,  and  altogether 
the  whole  appearance  of  the  flower,  with  its  sweet 
odour,  has  something  wonderfully  delightful  about  it. 
In  some  places,  where  it  grows  commonly,  a  wreath 
of  the  natural  flowers  is  worn  over  the  bride’s  veil  at 
her  marriage. 

As  soon  as  the  white  blossoms  fade,  the  little  cells  of 
the  germ  begin  to  grow,  and  the  whole  germ,  losing  its 
stigma,  becomes  a  round  green  ball,  taking  a  whole 
year  to  come  to  perfection,  and  hanging  on  the  tree 
long  after  it  is  ripe,  so  that  it  is  the  especial  beauty  of 
this  exquisite  tree  to  bear,  all  at  once,  the  white  flowers, 
with  the  green  and  the  golden  fruit,  its  promise  and 
performance  both  visible  together. 

No  wonder  the  orange  is  so  long  in  growing,  for 
there  is  a  whole  workshop  within  its  case,  and  you  can 
see  for  yourself  the  result  of  all  the  strange  things  that 
happen  there.  The  rind,  full  of  little  bags  of  oil,  loosens 


ORANGES. 


211 


and  separates  itself,  while  a  thick  white  coat  grows  op 
within  it,  the  cells,  containing  the  seeds,  enlarge ;  and 
not  only  this,  but  there  grow  forward,  into  them,  a 
number  of  very  small  bags,  or  bottles,  each  filled  with 
pulp,  which,  as  the  fruit  ripens,  becomes  juice,  first  very 
sour,  then  sweeter.  What  is  the  use,  you  will  say,  of  this 
juice  being  parted  into  so  many  little  bags  ?  It  is  another 
proof  of  the  wisdom  of  the  Hand  that  made  the  orange  ; 
such,  that  it  may  be  carried  long  distances,  and  brought 
to  be  the  refreshment  of  thirsty  lips,  so  many  miles  from 
the  sun  that  ripens  it.  Why  does  the  bee  store  its 
honey  in  such  little  cells  ?  Do  you  know  ?  Perhaps 
you  will  say  its  suits  the  bee  to  have  store-houses  no 
bigger  than  itself,  and  so  it  does ;  but  do  you  know 
what  happens  when  honey  is  put  away  in  large  jars? 
If  the  weather  be  warm,  it  ferments  and  turns  sour, 
but  though  the  bee-hive  is  a  very  hot  place,  the  honey 
never  ferments  in  its  own  little  six-sided  jars.  So  it  is 
with  the  orange,  its  juice,  if  it  were  all  together,  would 
soon  be  spoilt  by  the  heat,  but  in  these  separate  bottles 
it  is  safely  secured,  a  little  in  one  and  a  little  in  the 
other,  and  kept  good  till  we  want  it.  The  cells  are  the 
cloves  of  the  orange  into  which  our  fingers  can  divide 
it ;  the  bags  are  the  fine  net-work  within  them,  much 
more  easily  discerned  in  a  bad  orange  than  in  a  good 
one.  The  actual  seeds  everyone  knows  ;  but  does  it  not 
show  that  oranges  were  made  for  our  especial  benefit, 
that  there  should  be  so  many  without  pips,  so  as  to  be 
of  no  use  at  all,  excepting  for  food  ?  Another  arrange¬ 
ment,  to  fit  the  orange  for  travelling  long  distances,  is 
the  oil  in  the  little  dots  in  the  peel,  which  keeps  it 
fresh,  though  separated  from  the  tree,  as  well  as  the 
thick,  strong,  yellow  coat,  lined  with  white,  so  much 
less  tender  than  the  covering  of  apples,  pears,  plums,  or 
such  fruits  as  are  eaten  on  the  spot. 


212 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Thus  you  see  how  our  Father’s  gracious  Providence 
has  made  this  delicious  fruit  such  as  can  be  spread  over 
the  whole  earth,  eaten  in  this  country  even  more  uni¬ 
versally  than  our  native  fruits,  and  more  refreshing, 
perhaps,  than  any  other.  Who  that  has  ever  been  ill 
does  not  remember  the  pleasant,  juicy,  sharp  sweetness, 
coming  so  refreshingly,  or  the  delicious  taste  of  the 
orange  squeezed  into  water,  the  nicest  of  all  drinks? 
I  am  sure,  if  people  would  only  think  a  little,  they 
would  see  that  the  commonness  and  cheapness  of  the 
orange,  is  a  thing  to  be  very  thankful  for,  prepared  as 
it  is  for  our  use  and  delight. 

Delight,  some  of  you  null  say,  who  like  play  better 
than  eating,  and  who  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  basket 
(so  called,)  made  of  the  orange,  or  its  cloves  divided 
into  a  flower,  or  its  rind  turned  into  a  bowl.  By-tlie- 
bye,  I  hope,  if  ever  you  are  obliged  to  eat  an  orange  with¬ 
out  a  plate,  that  you  don’t  throw  its  rind  where  it  may  be 
an  unpleasant  sight,  and  perhaps  the  means  of  a  bad  fall. 

Oranges  come  to  England  packed  in  large  cases, 
which  you  sometimes  see  at  fruiterers’  shops,  with  laths 
bent  over  the  top  to  protect  them.  The  pale-coated, 
sour-juiced  lemon,  which  gives  so  pleasant  a  flavour  to 
puddings,  grows  in  company  with  it  on  Mediterranean 
coasts ;  the  lime,  the  smallest  of  the  race,  is  wild  in 
India,  and  its  juice  is  most  delicious.  The  shaddock  is 
another  Indian  fruit ;  and  there  is  another  kind  some¬ 
times  brought  here,  and  very  large  and  handsome,  to 
which  some  thoughtless  person  lias  irreverently  given 
the  name  of  forbidden  fruit.  I  hope  if  ever  it  comes  in 
your  way  you  will  not  make  nonsense  about  its  name, 
as  I  have  heard  of  some  silly  people  doing.  Of  course 
it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  real  fruit  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge,  and  there  is  no  harm  in  eating  it,  but  there 


ORCHISES. 


213 


is  great  harm  in  talking  lightly  of  the  sin  for  which 
every  one  of  us  is  suffering. 

The  citron  was  brought  to  Europe  from  Assyria  and 
Media,  before  even  the  orange.  It  is  hardier,  and  I 
have  seen  one  tree  growing  in  the  open  air  in  a  warm 
sunny  place.  It  will  ripen  its  fruit  in  hot-houses,  and  is 
often  preserved ;  but  the  chief  use  of  it  is  in  its  thick 
delicious  rind,  which  affords  such  tit-bits  in  mince-pies, 
plum-puddings,  and  those  cakes,  all  white  outside,  all 
dark  inside,  which  on  twelfth-days,  christening-days, 
and  wedding-days,  are  said  by  the  wise  to  be  too  rich 
to  be  eaten.  And  well  for  the  foolish  if  they  are  only 
allowed  that  “enough”  which  is  “  as  good  as  a  feast.” 
No,  I  don’t  call  them  foolish  if,  of  themselves,  they 
only  take  enough,  for  to  be  temperate  in  all  things  is 
part  of  the  highest  wisdom.  Happy  the  child  who 
does  not  think  the  citron  and  the  plums  the  best  part 
of  the  feast — no,  nor  even  the  almond  paste.  I  won¬ 
der  whether  you  and  I  should  agree  as  to  what  the 
best  part  of  the  festival  is. 

Of  class  xix.  you  will  find  an  account  under  the 
name  of  compound  flowers. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CLASS.  XX. — ORCHISES. 

One  of  the  first  glad  sights  of  merry  spring  are  certain 
stars  of  long,  narrow,  pointed  leaves,  spreading  on  the 
ground,  growing  one  within  the  other,  and  often  orna¬ 
mented  by  bright  spots  of  black.  By-and-bye  a  little 
bud  appears  in  the  middle,  veiled  in  a  thin  silvery  case. 
It  grows  and  it  grows,  till  it  bursts  its  sheath,  and  up¬ 
lifts  a  fat  fleshy  stem,  bearing  a  purple  spike  of  long- 


214 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


tailed  flowers,  pleasant  to  behold  in  the  green  copse- 
wood  among  blue-bells  and  primroses,  and  brilliantly 
setting  off  the  cowslips  and  mary golds  that  are  apt  to 
be  the  chief  groundwork  of  May  garlands. 

A  nice  old  English  name  for  these  flowers  was  long- 
purples  ;  but  village  people  generally  call  them  by  the 
disagreeable  name  of  dead-men’s-hands,  because  they 
have  a  root  of  two  long  narrow  tubers,  (one  dies,  and 
they  form  a  fresh  one  every  year,)  and  thus  most  edu¬ 
cated  people  know  them  best  by  their  Latin  name  of 
Orchis.  They  belong  to  the  twentieth  class. 

I  don’t  think  any  plants,  that  I  know,  are  so  difficult 
to  understand  as  these,  but  I  will  do  my  best  to  explain 
their  structure,  for  it  is  very  remarkable.  The  spike 
consists  of  a  number  of  blossoms,  each  growing  on  what 
appears  a  thick  stem,  with  a  long  purple  leaf  at  its  foot. 
This  stem  is  in  fact  the  germ ;  you  see  it  is  curiously 
twisted,  and  if  it  was  cut  in  two  and  magnified,  you 
would  find  it  full  of  young  seeds.  The  corolla  is  a 
wonderful  thing.  Behind  stretches  a  long  hollow  tail, 
a  spur,  as  it  is  called ;  hanging  down  in  front  a  lip,  a 
three-notched  petal,  beautifully  streaked  and  spotted 
with  white,  black,  and  purple ;  at  the  sides  are  two 
other  petals,  which  seem  to  protect  the  rest,  and  are 
called  the  wings,  and  between  them  are  three  very  small 
petals,  closing  together,  so  as  to  form  a  little  helmet,  the 
casque.  The  middle  one  of  these  three  bends  over  a 
dark-purple  thing,  thick  and  flesliy-looking.  With  a 
magnifying-glass  you  can,  if  you  have  clever  eyes,  and 
fingers  handy  in  using  a  pin,  discover  that  this  is  divided 
down  the  middle  by  a  sort  of  seam ;  then  pulling  open 
the  seam,  you  will  find  the  purple  covering  is  a  case  for 
two  small  olive-green  things,  shaped  more  like  a  comma 
than  anything  else.  These  are  the  pulp  in  wffiich  the 


ORCHISES. 


215 


pollen  resides,  and  the  purple  case  is  in  fact  the  anther. 
Filament  there  is  none,  and  the  germ,  we  have  seen, 
serving  the  purpose  of  a  footstalk,  while  the  top  of  its 
stigma  forms  a  fleshy  white  cup,  opening  upwards  under 
the  anther.  Was  there  ever  a  stranger  construction  ? 
all  the  parts  seem  upside  down.  We  should  never  have 
found  them  if  botanists  had  not  taught  us,  and  here 
even  more  than  in  the  compound  flowers  we  should 
have  fancied  that  there  was  neither  pistil  nor  stamen ; 
and  which  of  the  parts  of  the  flower  are  to  be  called 
calyx,  and  which  corolla,  people  are  not  agreed,  though 
the  wings  are  generally  termed  the  calyx. 

The  orchises,  even  in  the  commonest  forms,  are  the 
strangest  of  all  flowers,  if  this  wonderful  structure  is 
examined.  We  have  several  kinds,  to  be  found  almost 
everywhere.  The  earliest,  with  the  black-spotted 
leaves,  is  the  purple-orchis ;  and,  for  old  friendship’s 
sake,  I  like  it  best  of  all,  connected  as  it  is  with  May 
walks,  and  cuckoos’  songs,  and  pleasant  woods,  where 
a  little  damp  makes  its  purple  spikes  rise  high,  and 
densely  covered,  growing  at  a  little  distance  apart,  and 
luring  one  on  through  bramble  and  tangle  in  the  search, 
and  varied  in  endless  shades  of  lilac,  from  deep  dark 
purple  to  almost  pink.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  a  number 
of  them  together  in  water  have  an  unpleasant  smell. 

A  little  later,  the  pretty  little  green-winged  meadow- 
orchis  springs  up  all  over  our  pastures,  in  company 
with  cowslips.  Its  wings  are  always  pale  green  striped 
with  brown,  but  its  lip  is  sometimes  very  dark  purple, 
sometimes  very  pale  rose-colour,  sometimes  even  white, 
and  though  a  sturdy  little  plant,  there  is  hardly  a 
prettier  May  flower.  In  the  marshy  meadows,  there 
blossoms  at  the  same  time  the  large,  tall,  noble-look¬ 
ing,  broad-leaved-orcliis,  its  blossoms  usually  rather  a 


216 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


red  shade  of  the  orchis  purple,  though  varying  very 
much.  You  may  know  it  from  the  rest  by  the  length 
and  brown  colour  of  the  bracts,  or  leaves  that  grow  at 
the  foot  of  the  germs,  as  well  as  by  the  breadth  of  the 
tapering  leaves.  Later,  there  follows  it  the  aromatic- 
orchis,  very  red,  very  sweet,  its  spike  very  long,  and 
its  spurs  of  a  most  disproportionate  length ;  and  some¬ 
times  you  may  find  the  pyramidal-orchis,  which  looks 
as  if  some  one  had  pulled  all  the  blossoms  of  the 
aromatic-orchis  up  to  the  top  of  the  stalk  into  one 
bunch,  shaped  like  a  half-opened  mushroom,  with  a 
peak.  In  woods  there  come,  at  the  same  time,  the 
spotted- orchis,  a  very  pretty  one,  its  long  narrow  leaves 
very  thickly  dotted  with  black,  and  its  white  flowers 
with  delicate  purple,  and  sometimes,  though  less  com¬ 
monly,  the  butterfly-orchis.  I  cannot  tell  why  it  is 
so  called,  as  it  is  not  in  the  least  like  a  butterfly, 
though  perhaps  it  might  be  compared  to  certain  slen¬ 
der,  delicate-looking  white  moths.  You  cannot  mis¬ 
take  it  when  once  you  see  it.  It  is  very  unlike  any¬ 
thing  but  itself,  and  though  hardly  to  be  called  beauti¬ 
ful,  has  a  peculiar  grace  of  its  own,  in  its  large,  loose, 
airy,  white  spike,  its  long  streamer-like  white  lips,  its 
taper  greenish  wings,  and  very  long  curving  spurs, 
twisting  and  crossing  each  other  in  a  sort  of  zigzag 
pattern  ;  above  all,  there  is  the  pure  sweet  scent,  which 
is  more  charming  in  the  evening.  It  always  seems 
like  a  lady  of  the  woods.  It  is  also  called  the  honey¬ 
suckle-orchis,  because  of  its  delicious  smell,  a  good 
deal  like  a  honeysuckle ;  and  the  two -leaved-orchis, 
because  half-way  up  the  stem  grow  a  pair  of  oval 
leaves,  spreading  one  on  each  side.  These  are  not 
true  leaves,  only  bracts,  and  you  see  they  have  not  the 
branching  mid-rib  and  net-work,  but  have  the  long 


ORCHISES. 


217 


ribbon-like  veins  going  lengthways,  as  those  growing 
from  the  root  have ;  like  the  lily  and  grass-kind,  and 
all  the  plants  which  have  but  one  cotyledon,  and  shoot 
up  in  sheaths. 

These  are  the  most  frequent  of  the  true  orchises, 
all  of  which  have  spurs.  The  other  families  of  this 
tribe  are  without  spurs,  though  other  parts  of  the 
structure  resemble  those  already  described,  and  very 
curious  some  of  them  are.  The  tway-blade,  so  called 
from  having  two  such  oval  leaves  as  the  butterfly- 
orchis,  grows  in  much  the  same  places,  but  is  not  of 
the  same  fleshy  substance.  It  has  a  four-cleft  lip,  that 
seems  to  hang  out  the  sign  of  the  little  green  man, 
with  its  two  arms  and  two  legs,  and  yellow  head ;  but 
this  is  not  near  so  like  as  the  man-tway-blade,  pro¬ 
perly  so  called,  is  said  to  be.  Of  this,  however,  I 
cannot  judge,  since  I  never  saw  it.  The  bird’s-nest- 
orcliis  is  a  very  strange  plant,  growing  under  beech 
trees,  which  allow  scarcely  anything  else  to  come 
near  them,  in  their  strong  desire  to  keep  their  domain 
tidy,  and  allow  no  litter  under  their  branches ;  but 
this  little  plant  comes  up  under  the  lordly  shade  of 
their  arching  boughs,  nay,  even  close  to  their  smooth 
univied  trunks ;  and  as  if  to  elude  their  observation,  it 
wears  the  livery  of  their  own  dead  leaves,  and  while 
in  its  full  prime,  is  as  brown — blossom,  stem,  and  all — 
as  if  it  had  been  dead  for  months.  As  to  leaves,  it 
attempts  none,  it  is  only  glad  to  find  sufferance  for  its 
brown  petals  in  the  deep  glades  of  the  beecli-wood. 

In  dry  pastures  grow  the  lady’s-tresses,  a  pretty  little 
low  plant  with  blossoms  where  the  wings  are  pure  white, 
and  the  lip  green,  the  flowers  twisting  in  a  spiral  line 
round  the  spike,  and  I  suppose  owing  their  name  to 
their  way  of  growth  being  in  the  line  of  the  waves  of  a 


218 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


lady’s  hair.  I  fancy  this  must  be  the  flower  that  vil¬ 
lage  children’s  rhyme  means  : — • 

“  Daffodils  and  daisies, 

Rosemary  and  tresses, 

All  the  girls  in  our  town 
Must  curtsey  to  the  ladies  ; 

The  bushes  so  high,  the  bushes  so  low, 

Please,  my  lady,  stoop  under  the  hough  1” 

The  children  always  say  it  “  traisies ,”  but  as  there 
is  no  such  word,  I  suspect  it  once  meant  tresses.  Do 
you  know  the  game  the  rhyme  belongs  to?  Four 
little  girls  stand  together,  the  arms  of  two  crossed  over 
those  of  the  other  pair,  and  sing  it  together.  When 
they  come  to  the  curtseying,  they  all  curtsey,  and  at 
the  stooping  under  the  bough,  the  under  pair  bend 
under  the  arms  of  the  others,  and  come  within,  so  as 
to  be  inclosed  between  them,  and  then  they  all  jump 
till  they  can  hold  together  no  longer. 

I  don’t  know  whether  you  can  understand  this  de¬ 
scription,  so  we  will  go  back  to  the  lady’s-tresses.  If 
you  find  them  at  all,  it  will  be  in  quantities ;  but  the 
strange  thing  is,  that  though  they  are  not  annual,  and 
grow  in  ground  by  no  means  liable  to  be  disturbed, 
they  show  their  faces  only  now  and  then ;  they  will 
come  up  one  year,  and  not  be  seen  again  for  four  or 
five,  or  else  make  their  appearance  on  some  lawn, 
where  no  one  ever  expected  them. 

Helleborine  has  long  leaves  and  bracts,  and  a  pret¬ 
tily-jagged  lip.  The  broad-leaved  kind  grows  in  dry 
wood ;  the  marsh  helleborine  has  a  white  under-lip, 
jagged  and  edged  with  red  ;  the  large  white  hellebo¬ 
rine,  a  great  beauty,  looks  at  first  sight  like  a  lily,  but 
is  not  common. 

I  have  kept  to  the  last  the  choicest  English  orclii- 
deous  plants,  the  ophrys  kind,  the  lip  of  which  is 


ORCHISES. 


219 


arranged,  as  if  for  the  very  purpose  of  affording  us 
sport,  in  forms  like  those  of  insects.  Prettiest  of  all 
is  the  bee-ophrys,  its  downy,  velvety,  curved  lip,  dark 
brown  mottled  with  yellow,  and  its  pale  lilac  wings, 
streaked  with  green,  affording  a  most  curious  likeness 
of  a  bee  about  to  settle  on  a  flower.  They  are  just 
sufficiently  rare  to  make  the  discovery  of  them  delight¬ 
ful.  I  shall  never  forget  the  ecstacy  of  my  first  sight 
of  one  on  a  mossy  bank,  in  a  little  copsewood  dell,  two 
bees  full  out,  and  another  just  coming  ;  it  was  a  scream 
of  joy  indeed  with  which  I  flew  at  it.  A  few  more  I 
have  found ;  the  best  mine  of  them  was  an  old  chalk¬ 
pit,  now  destroyed,  and  now  and  then  they  are  met 
Avith  in  dry  pastures  ;  but  I  suspect  them  of  the  caprices 
of  my  lady’s-tresses,  for  where  I  find  them  one  year,  it 
is  almost  certain  that  there  they  will  not  be  the  next. 

The  fly-ophrys  I  have  but  once  seen,  and  then  it  was 
not  growing,  but  freshly  gathered.  It  looked  like  a 
house-fly  cut  out  of  dark  puce  velvet,  a  blue  spot  on  its 
back,  and,  if  I  remember  right,  with  jet-black  eyes. 
The  spider-ophrys  I  have  never  seen. 

But  these  wonders  of  our  own  do  not  approach  to 
what  may  be  seen  in  foreign  lands,  especially  in  South 
America.  There  grows  a  plant,  looked  on  and  named 
in  the  same  spirit  as  the  passion-flower,  as  another 
stamp  and  token  of  the  Christian  faith,  set  by  the  hands 
of  its  Author,  the  beautiful  orchid,  called  by  the  Spa¬ 
niards  of  Panama,  the  Espiritu  Santo ,  because  it  is  just 
like  a  hovering  dove  of  the  purest  white,  a  fit  emblem 
indeed  for  Whit- Sunday. 

Another  dove-orchis  grows  there  likewise,  a  large,  tall 
plant,  with  flowers  like  a  white  dove  on  her  nest,  her  head 
turned  back  and  her  wings  slightly  raised  and  touched 
with  purple.  Another  orchid  is  like  a  whole  shower 


220 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


of  pale  purple  and  white  butterflies,  coming  down  from 
a  bough,  and  this,  like  many  of  the  tribe,  is  a  parasite  ; 
that  is,  it  grows  on  the  limbs  of  trees,  like  mistletoe  ; 
while  there  is  another  kind  more  like  sticks  of  coral 
than  anything  else,  the  whole  plant  being  of  the  most 
glowing  scarlet,  except  the  flowers,  which  are  deep 
purple.  These  four  I  have  seen  in  liot-houses,  and 
marvelled  at ;  there  are  many  more  that  are  grown  in 
the  same  manner  in  England,  and  that  a  few  lucky 
people  are  able  to  go  and  admire,  but  what  must  they 
not  be  in  their  own  home  ? 

Some  grow  from  the  earth ;  some  hang  down  from 
the  trees ;  some  sit  on  rocks  amid  moss  ;  some  beautify 
the  decaying  and  fallen  trees,  and  their  perfume  fills 
the  woods  at  night.  Their  forms  are  beyond  every¬ 
thing  astonishing.  The  monkey,  the  mosquito,  the 
ant,  are  only  a  few  of  them ;  there  are  hovering  birds 
and  every  wondrous  shape,  so  that  travellers  declare 
that  the  life-time  of  an  artist  would  be  too  short  to  give 
pictures  of  all  the  kinds  that  inhabit  the  valleys  of  Peru 
alone. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CLASS  XXI _ DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 

All  the  first  twenty  classes  of  plants  follow  the  practice 
we  should  have  thought  most  convenient,  of  keeping 
all  their  parts,  both  stamens  and  pistils,  in  the  same 
flower;  but  the  three  next  have  a  strange  custom  of 
dividing  them  in  different  blossoms — one  bearing  all 
the  stamens,  another  all  the  pistils.  The  stamen¬ 
bearing  flower  perishes  and  leaves  nothing  behind  it, 


DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


221 


as  soon  as  the  pollen  has  been  scattered  from  it,  but 
the  pistil  swells,  and  in  time  becomes  fruit  or  seed- 
vessel. 

The  twenty-first  class  has  these  pistil  and  stamen- 
bearing  flowers  upon  different  branches  of  the  same 
plant,  generally  the  pistil-bearing  growing  somewhat 
under  the  stamen-bearing,  that  they  may  the  more 
readily  catch  the  pollen.  Sometimes  the  fertile  and 
barren  blossoms  are  so  much  alike  that  we  only  dis¬ 
cover  the  difference  by  peeping  closely  into  them  with 
botanical  eyes ;  sometimes  they  are  so  unlike  that  we 
can  hardly  believe  in  their  near  relationship.  Most 
forest  trees  belong  to  this  family ;  and  we  may  observe 
that  in  most  cases,  though  not  in  all,  the  plants  which 
have  this  strange  arrangement  are  such  as  are  not  much 
esteemed  for  them  fruit,  and  which  have  other  means  of 
becoming  multiplied  besides  the  seed,  since  its  formation 
must  be  less  certain  that  when  all  the  parts  needed  for 
it  are  close  together  in  one  case  instead  of  depending  on 
the  busy  bees  or  the  winds  to  bring  the  pollen  from  the 
anther  to  the  germ.  However,  the  first  genus  I  see  stand¬ 
ing  in  the  list  makes  me  glad  that  I  said  in  most  cases, 
not  in  all,  for  it  is  the  bread-fruit  tree  which  grows  in 
the  South  Sea  Islands.  I  daresay  you  have  wit  enough 
to  guess  that  the  tree  does  not  exactly  bear  loaves  of 
bread  ready  baked ;  and  yet  it  is  not  very  unlike  them, 
for  the  fruit  is  as  large  as  a  baby’s  head,  and  when  it 
has  been  baked,  and  the  outer  rind  peeled  off,  there  is 
left  a  yellow  covering  like  crust,  and  a  white  substance 
within,  something  like  crumb.  Never  having  seen  the 
bread-fruit  anywhere  but  in  a  print,  I  will  pass  on  to  a 
race  that  we  all  of  us  have  seen,  but  whether  we  have 
noticed,  depends  on  whether  we  have  followed  the  ex¬ 
ample  of  eyes  or  of  no  eyes. 


222 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Those  odd  things  called  spurge  are  what  I  mean. 
There  are  two  sorts  which  you  may  have  often  pulled 
up  as  weeds  in  your  garden — the  sun  spurge,  and  the 
small  spurge  ;  both  are  plants  of  a  very  regular  growth, 
their  stalks  full  of  milk  wherever  you  break  them,  their 
leaves  bluish,  and  their  blossoms  yellowish  green.  It 
is  this  milkiness  of  the  plant  that  is  the  distinguishing 
mark  of  the  spurges,  the  juice  has  that  taste  which  is 
called  acrid,  and  was  formerly  used  to  remove  warts, 
from  which  the  plant  has  derived  the  name  of  wart- 
weed.  The  stem  is  always  regularly  forked  and 
branched,  in  some  kinds  almost  like  the  umbelliferous 
plants.  In  the  lesser  spurge  there  are  two  regular 
stages  of  stems,  springing  out  like  spokes,  and  with 
three  long  narrow  leaves  at  each  starting  point.  The 
upper  umbel  bears  from  three  to  four  little  green 
flowers,  some  with  very  minute  single  stamens,  others 
with  round  swelling  pistils.  There  are  pretty  little 
yellow  crescents  in  the  flowers,  which  at  first  sight  we 
should  take  for  curiously-shaped  anthers,  but  which  are 
in  reality  nectaries.  This  small  spurge  has  long,  narrow, 
lance-shaped  leaves ;  those  of  the  sun  spurge  are  more 
nearly  heart-shaped,  and  form  pretty  little  cups  round  the 
small  flowers.  There  is  a  larger  sort  growing  in  the 
woods,  and  named  the  wood  spurge ;  it  is  less  milky, 
and  has  a  red  shrubby  stem,  very  neat  regular  green 
cups,  and  pretty  yellow  crescent  nectaries.  It  comes 
with  the  primroses  and  blue-bells,  and  looks  spring¬ 
like  and  friendly.  Another  small  sort  is  found  in  corn¬ 
fields,  and  there  is  one  sometimes  cultivated  in  old  gar¬ 
dens,  and  called,  from  the  regularity  of  its  alternate 
leaves,  Jacob’s  ladder,  and  sometimes  caper.  They  are 
not  a  very  interesting  race,  and  I  only  mention  them 
because  they  are  so  common.  In  the  southern  hemi- 


DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


223 


sphere  these  spurges  grow  to  a  great  size,  and  become 
forest  trees,  figuring  in  books  by  their  Latin  name  of 
Euphorbia. 

Some  few  grasses  do  not  keep  their  stamens  and 
pistils  in  the  same  blossom,  and  one  of  these  is  the 
beautiful  maize,  or  Indian  corn.  Many  children  like  to 
grow  it  in  their  gardens  as  a  curiosity,  so  perhaps  you 
may  be  able  to  examine  it.  The  stamens,  you  see,  grow 
in  a  spike  of  blossom,  much  like  that  of  other  grasses ; 
the  fertile  flowers  are  out  of  sight,  closely  folded  up  in 
those  long  swelling  sheaths  of  leaves  that  branch  out  on 
the  sides  of  the  stem,  and  from  which  hangs  out  a  tassel 
or  plume,  or  whatever  you  please  to  call  it,  of  whitish 
green  hairs,  or  strings.  This  is  the  wonderful  arrange¬ 
ment  for  allowing  the  pollen  to  reach  the  germs,  which 
otherwise  it  could  never  do,  enclosed  as  they  are  in 
their  double  rolls  of  leaf.  If  you  pull  to  pieces  one  of 
these  sheaths,  you  will  find  the  soft,  fleshy,  green  re¬ 
ceptacle,  covered  with  odd  little  flowers,  from  each  of 
which  depends  one  of  these  long  hairs,  a  sort  of  mer¬ 
maid’s  wig.  As  autumn  comes  on,  the  germs  harden 
into  large  round  grains,  either  red  or  yellow — every  one, 
that  is  to  say,  whose  streamer  has  properly  conducted 
its  pollen,  for  on  some  cobs,  especially  near  the  bottom, 
we  sometimes  find  that  some  have  failed  and  died  away. 
A  perfect  cob  is  a  beautiful  thing,  with  the  long  lines 
of  rich  amber-coloured  grains,  close  together,  and  as 
regular  as  lines  of  beads,  and  the  whole  plant  is  very 
handsome.  Some  kinds  are  of  very  quick  growth.  In 
our  own  garden  we  had  a  giant  sort,  one  leaf  of  which 
grew  nine  inches  in  one  day.  The  plant  was  at  least 
eight  feet  high,  and  the  cobs,  which  had  red  grains, 
were  very  long  and  handsome.  It  is  an  American 
plant,  and  was  found  cultivated  in  Peru  when  it  was 
first  discovered.  It  served  the  inhabitants  instead  of 


224 


THE  HERB  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


wheat,  and  was  so  highly  honoured  by  them  that  they 
had  in  the  treasures  of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun  a  figure 
of  it,  with  the  leaves  and  beard  of  silver,  and  the  grains 
of  gold.  The  Spaniards  brought  the  maize  home,  and 
it  is  much  grown  all  over  the  southern  parts  of  the 
continent,  where  they  are  pleased  to  call  it  Turkish 
wheat.  Here  in  England  it  is  not  used  sufficiently  to 
make  it  be  cultivated  in  great  quantities.  The  bread 
made  from  it  is  not  as  good  as  wheaten  bread,  and  the 
chief  use  of  it  is  to  feed  turkeys  on  the  grains  or  the 
meal,  and  horses  are  sometimes  fed  on  the  leaves.  The 
English  horses  in  the  Peninsular  war  learnt  to  know 
it  well. 

In  America  it  is  also  extensively  grown,  and  the 
harvest  of  large  cobs  in  their  leafy  sheaths  is  said  to 
be  exceedingly  rich-looking  and  beautiful.  The  green 
cobs  in  their  unripe  state  are  there  considered  as  a 
great  dainty,  either  raw  or  boiled,  and  both  man  and 
beast  live  much  upon  the  maize  flour.  The  picking  the 
grains  out  of  the  cobs  is  a  grand  employment  in  the 
winter,  especially  for  the  women  and  children. 

Those  near  relatives  of  the  grasses,  the  sedges,  and 
some  of  the  reeds,  belong  to  this  class.  Do  you  know 
any  river  or  pool  where  grows  the  great  bulrush,  or.  as 
the  riddle  says,  at  certain  seasons  it  is  dangerous  to 
walk?  Fine  fellows  are  they;  sometimes  known  by 
the  names  of  cat’s-tail,  or  reed-mace,  but  I  like  best  to 
call  them  bulrushes,  and  you  may  know  why  in  one 
moment,  though,  of  course,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
the  little  reed-woven  ark  where  the  infant  prophet  slept 
safely,  as  he  floated  among  the  monsters  in  the  Nile 
waters,  could  be  of  the  same  bulrush  that  we  see  in  our 
streams. 

No  monsters  are  found  in  the  haunts  of  our  bulrushes, 


DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


225 


the  dragon-flies  do  indeed  flit  round  them,  and  settle  on 
their  long  leaves,  to  devour  their  prey,  but  the  other 
dwellers  in  their  pools  are  all  harmless.  The  moor¬ 
hen’s  damp  cradle  is  found  in  their  shelter,  the  dab- 
chick  swims  under  their  tall  leaves  with  her  tiny  brood, 
and  the  water-rat  dives  and  rises,  peering  round  with 
keen  black  eyes. 

You  little  girls  have  little  chance  of  gathering  for 
yourselves  one  of  these  grave  mace-bearers  of  the  armies 
of  flags  and  spears.  You  must  get  some  big  brother,  who 
cares  little  for  wet,  to  plunge  in  after  them ;  and  most 
likely  he  will  be  glad  to  make  a  commotion  among  all 
those  dwellers  in  the  pools,  and  send  them  splashing 
and  diving  their  different  ways.  I  hope  he  will  not 
forget  to  bring  you  back  one  of  our  clubs,  a  tall  stem, 
long,  narrow,  tapering  leaves,  and  bearing  the  large 
round  mace,  somewhat  of  the  size  and  shape  of  a  candle, 
with  a  wick  as  long  as  itself.  Early  in  the  season  the 
club  part,  which  consists  in  reality  of  the  fertile  flowers, 
is  of  a  greenish  brown,  while  the  upper  slenderer  por¬ 
tion,  which  I  called  the  wick,  is  covered  with  long  an¬ 
thers,  growing  quite  close  together.  By  August,  these 
have  scattered  their  pollen  and  withered  away,  leaving 
only  their  stalk,  looking  broken  and  rough,  but  making 
a  good  finish  to  the  club,  which  has  become  of  a  very 
deep  dark  brown  colour,  and  soft  plush-like  texture. 
By-and-bye  all  the  little  downy  seeds  of  which  it  con¬ 
sists  will  break  out  and  fly  away,  to  sow  the  bulrushes 
of  next  year. 

The  bur  reeds  are  to  be  found  by  banks  of  rivers,  in 
places  much  like  the  haunts  of  the  bulrush.  They 
have  branching  stems,  bearing  a  number  of  little  balls 
— some  all  yellow,  consisting  of  stamens — some  all 
brown,  or  all  green  ;  the  pistils  with  white  stigmas,  the 

15 


226 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


leaves  lance-shaped,  and  the  whole  plant  very  hand¬ 
some,  often  with  a  large  black  fat  sing  enjoying  him¬ 
self  on  the  back  of  a  leaf. 

Here,  too,  you  will  find  the  sedges — plenty  of  them — 
for  there  are  sixty-two  English  kinds,  many  of  them 
very  common  by  river-sides  and  in  woods.  You  would 
be  apt  at  first  sight  to  call  them  grasses,  but,  though 
their  first  cousins,  they  belong  to  a  different  family,  and 
are  of  no  use  to  man,  whereas  grasses  are  most  valuable. 

They  are  known  by  always  having  a  three-cornered 
stem,  remarkably  harsh  to  the  touch,  and  no  wonder, 
for  it  is  full  of  silex,  the  substance  that  gives  hardness 
to  flint  stones.  This  is  very  wonderful,  but  I  cannot 
explain  it.  The  leaves  do  not,  like  those  of  the  grasses, 
form  the  stem  itself,  though  they  seem  at  first  sight  to 
do  so,  for  they  are  rolled  round  the  stem  at  the  lower 
part,  and  sheathe  it.  They  are  generally  ofa  pale  yel¬ 
lowish  green,  suiting  the  autumn  tints,  when  the  wood 
sedges  usually  blossom.  The  flowers  grow  in  separate 
spikes,  the  fertile  ones  the  lowest  down,  and  generally 
all  green,  consisting  of  small  chaffy  scales,  protecting  a 
hairy,  bottle-shaped,  two-divided  germ,  with  three 
stigmas.  The  barren  spikes  are  much  prettier,  for 
their  scales  are  dark  brown  or  black,  and  their  anthers 
hang  from  them  in  multitudes,  of  yellow  or  sulphur 
colour.  A  spike  in  full  flower,  bowing  in  its  graceful 
manner  its  soft  yellow  plume,  between  two  darkened 
unopened  spikes  on  the  bending  stem,  presents  so 
pretty  a  mixture  of  colour,  that  I  wonder  we  do  not 
oftener  see  it  in  river-side  nosegays.  In  every  blossom 
of  this  thick  scaly  head  are  three  stamens,  for  the  sedge 
is  as  constant  to  the  rule-of-tliree  as  its  relations  the 
grass  and  the  rush. 

Every  class  has  some  relations  among  these  divided 


DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


227 


families.  Among  those  of  the  fourth  class,  are  the  water- 
loving  alder,  and  the  evergreen  box.  And  what  do  you 
think  I  am  going  to  set  you  to  examine  now?  Don’t  scream 
when  I  tell  you  it  is  the  nettle  !  yes,  the  stinging  nettle  ! 
Take  hold  of  it  boldly ;  squeeze  it  well ;  does  it  sting  ? 
No  !  how  is  that?  Ila  !  I  hear  a  little  outcry — so  you  are 
stung  after  all.  Yes,  but  not  by  the  stem  which  you 
are  grasping,  but  by  a  leaf  which  has  lightly  touched 
your  hand.  Is  this  because  the  leaves  sting  and  not  the 
stem?  No;  for  the  least  touch  of  the  stem  will  cause 
you  a  prick,  and  raise  a  little  burning  white  head. 
What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Perhaps  a  nettle  is  like 
taking  trouble,  or  doing  what  we  do  not  like — learning 
a  hard  task,  or  taking  a  dose  of  physic,  perhaps ;  as 
long  as  we  dally  with  it,  and  touch  it,  and  taste  it,  and 
pity  ourselves,  it  seems  very  bad  ;  but  take  to  it  bravely, 
and  grapple  with  it  at  once,  and  there  is  an  end  of  the 
matter,  and  most  likely  there  is  no  sting  at  all.  Did 
you  ever  find  it  so  ? 

Boys  well  know  that  this  is  the  only  way  to  treat 
nettles ;  and  sometimes  they  take  in  other  children  in  a 
way  I  do  not  approve  at  all,  by  running  after  them 
with  a  bunch  of  nettles,  calling  out,  “  This  is  the  month 
that  nettles  don’t  sting and  when  the  poor  silly  child 
has  been  persuaded  to  give  a  timid  touch,  the  very  way 
to  get  stung,  they  laugh,  and  say,  “O,  I  told  no  story, 
I  said  nettles  didn’t  sting  the  month,  not  that  they 
would  not  sting  you.”  But  I  call  this  a  regular  cheat, 
and  very  unkind,  so  I  put  this  in  as  a  warning. 

The  reason  of  this  is,  that  all  the  little  white  hairs 
that  cover  the  stem  and  leaves  of  the  nettle  are  bristles, 
like  a  serpent’s  tooth,  each  with  a  little  bag  of  poison 
at  the  bottom,  which  a  slight  pressure  squeezes  into  the 
hand  through  the  tiny  pipe  into  the  bristle,  whereas 


228 


TIIE  HERB  OF  TIIE  FIELD 


a  good  hard  squeeze  crushes  bristle  and  bag  together, 
and  makes  them  harmless.  It  is  only  such  poison  as 
inflames  the  skin,  but  does  no  harm  if  eaten.  When 
vegetables  were  more  scarce,  and  there  was  famine  in 
the  land,  we  hear  of  boiled  nettle-tops  being  used  for 
food,  and  they  are  somestimes  given  now  to  young 
turkeys.  The  flowers  grow  like  many  four-stamened 
ones  in  flocks ;  they  are  green,  and  the  fertile  have 
shorter  stems  than  the  barren,  which  hang  out  rather 
prettily  in  autumn,  along  the  serrated  leaves.  In 
Australia  grows  a  gigantic  nettle  tree,  which  horses 
avoid  by  instinct,  as  well  they  may ;  for  each  sting  is  as 
long  as  a  needle,  and  so  full  of  venom,  that  it  would 
almost  be  death  to  be  stung,  at  least  bad  illness. 

The  amaranth,  another  everlasting  flower,  belongs  to 
this  class.  It  lias  chaffy  dry  scales  that  do  not  soon  decay, 
and  the  flowers  grow  close  together,  some  holding  five 
stamens,  others  two  styles.  Of  these  are  the  purple 
globe  amaranth,  also  the  spike,  covered  with  deep-red 
blossoms,  that  when  it  stands  upright,  we  call  prince’s 
feather,  when  it  droops,  the  love-lies-bleeding.  Last 
year  I  saw  a  little  girl  in  a  railway  carriage,  with  the 
finest  love-lies-bleeding  I  ever  met  with ;  it  was  wound 
in  two  or  three  large  coils,  and  tied  into  her  nosegay, 
otherwise  it  would  have  dragged  on  the  floor ;  I  really 
think  that  if  it  had  been  at  its  full  length,  it  must  have 
measured  more  than  a  yard.  Cockscombs  are  ama¬ 
ranths,  all  their  red  blossoms  gathered  into  one  large 
spreading  head. 

The  climbers  of  the  pentagon  race  have  a  very  pretty 
relative  here,  with  the  same  pinnate  leaves,  corkscrew 
tendrils,  bright  berries,  green  blossoms,  and  climbing 
stems — the  wild  vine,  or  white  bryony,  which  throws 
itself  about  on  all  the  bushes  within  its  reach,  and 


DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


229 


adorns  them  with  its  graceful  shoots,  There  is  one 
which  I  have  been  watching  all  the  summer,  creeping 
up  a  tall  pink  thorn,  and  it  is  now  nearly  at  the  top. 

The  many-stamened  flowers  have  a  beautiful  cousin 
in  the  person  of  that  arrow-head,  which  grows  in  the 
water,  its  leaves  just  the  shape  of  a  barbed  dart,  and 
their  long  straight  stem  like  its  shaft.  The  flowers  are 
white,  three-petalled,  and  with  a  rich,  deep,  purple 
eye — the  barren  and  fertile  just  alike,  till  examined 
closely. 

The  next  plant  is  one  that  can  hardly  find  a  likeness 
anywhere — the  arum,  that  is  to  say,  better  known  to 
most  of  my  friends  as  lords  and  ladies.  Do  you  not  like 
creeping  along  the  hedge  bank,  poking  into  the  clusters  of 
heart-shaped,  black-spotted,  handsome,  shining  leaves, 
for  the  tall,  green,  rolled-up  spike,  which  your  busy 
fingers  quickly  undo,  while  tongues  are  busy  guessing 
whether  it  will  disclose  a  red-faced  lord,  with  his  slender 
neck  encircled  by  a  red  and  white  collar  of  gems,  or  a 
delicate  white  lady.  Or  here  and  there,  if  late  enough, 
you  find  what  I  used  to  call  my  lord  or  my  lady  in  a 
coach — the  sheath  open,  and  making  a  beautiful  green 
bower  over  its  inhabitant,  looking,  as  I  now  think,  like 
the  drapery  we  sometimes  see  in  pictures,  floating,  and 
swelled  by  the  wind,  over  a  sea-nymph. 

My  lord  or  my  lady,  is  in  truth  the  stem,  the  collar 
of  gems  is  the  blossom ;  the  stamens  as  usual,  grow 
above,  in  the  upper  row  of  beads ;  the  fertile  flowers 
are  beneath,  and  in  time  give  place  to  scarlet  berries, 
which  look  very  bright  in  the  autumn.  I  believe  they 
are  poisonous,  but  the  root  when  dried,  cleaned,  and 
ground,  becomes  a  soft  white  flour,  which  is  known  by 
the  name  of  arrow-root,  or,  as  it  ought  to  be  called, 
arum-root.  The  most  esteemed  arrow-root  is  brought 


230 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


from  the  AVest  Indies,  but  our  own  lords  and  ladies  would 
I  believe  make  it  just  as  good.  There  is  another  kind 
sometimes  grown  in  green-houses,  where  the  sheath  is 
of  the  purest  white,  and  the  lord,  bright  yellow,  and  in 
Greece,  my  lord  goes  into  mourning,  and  appears  quite 
black,  most  beautiful,  but  with  a  horrible  scent. 

To  this  class  also  belong  all  the  trees  which  have 
their  barren  flowers  in  catkins,  and  which  I  pretty  well 
explained  to  you  in  the  account  of  the  hazel.  It  is  not 
treating  the  royal  oak  with  due  honour  to  pass  it  over 
so  lightly,  but  you  can  find  a  good  deal  about  oaks  in 
other  books,  so  I  will  not  dwell  on  it,  nor  on  the  beech 
and  chestnut,  for  if  I  once  began,  I  might  say  so  much 
about  them  that  this  chapter  would  be  too  long. 

The  fir-tree  was  disposed  of  among  the  needle  trees, 
and  I  have  only  now  to  mention  that  race  which  is  to  be 
found  in  all  hot  countries — the  cucumber,  melon,  and 
gourd.  They  all  have  soft  trailing  stems  of  marvellously 
quick  growth,  large  pinnate  leaves,  and  blossoms  gener¬ 
ally  yellow  of  one  petal  divided  into  five  ;  in  the  stamen¬ 
bearing  ones,  containing  three  filaments  and  anthers 
closely  joined,  like  the  brother-hood  class;  and  in  the 
pistil-bearing,  perched  above  a  great  swelling  germ, 
which  in  time  becomes  a  very  large  fruit. 

Here  in  England  we  are  obliged  to  raise  them  under 
glasses,  as  the  heat  is  not  sufficinet  to  bring  them  for- 
ward  ;  and  here  for  want  of  winds  and  bees  to  waft  the 
pollen,  gardeners  are  obliged  to  do  it  themselves,  and  carry 
the  stamens  to  the  pistil,  before  the  fruit  can  be  formed. 

The  cucumber  is  the  most  grown  and  most  useful ; 
next  to  this  come  the  melons,  handsome  round  fruits, 
full  of  fleshy  pulp,  most  cool  and  delicious  with  its  sharp 
taste.  The  water  melon  is  full  of  juice,  which  is  most 
precious  to  people  in  hot  countries.  In  Italy,  men  set 


DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


231 


up  booths  with  shelves  of  water  melons,  slices  of  which 
they  sell  to  the  thirsty  people,  who  enjoy  them  exceed¬ 
ingly  ;  and  in  the  East  they  are  much  prized  ;  it  seems 
a  special  gift  of  Providence  that,  with  very  little  water, 
these  immense  plants  should  grow  up  bearing  such  a 
profusion  of  the  coolest  fruit. 

Sometimes  the  gourd  plants  are  trained  over  porches 
and  trellises,  so  as  to  make  a  cool  and  beautiful  bower. 
You  remember  how  Jonah  rejoiced  in  the  gourd  that 
grew  over  him,  most  likely  supplying  him  with  food 
and  drink,  as  well  as  shelter,  and  how  he  was  grieved 
when  the  worm  at  its  root  withered  it  at  once  away  in 
a  single  night. 

Here  the  first  touch  of  frost  is  as  effectual  as  the 
worm,  and  our  great  vegetable  marrows,  that  the  day 
before  threatened  to  take  the  whole  garden  for  them¬ 
selves,  with  their  noble  branches,  and  great  leaves,  and 
mighty  fruit,  are  on  the  October  morning  nothing  but 
a  spectacle  of  yellow  ruin  and  decay,  showing  indeed 
how  “  the  creature  is  subject  to  vanity.” 

Some  kinds  of  gourds  have  a  rind  which  becomes 
very  hard,  and  these  are  very  useful  to  the  Hindoos, 
and  many  other  dwellers  in  hot  countries.  They  scrape 
out  the  inside,  fill  the  rind  up  with  sand  to  prevent 
it  from  contracting,  and  set  it  in  the  sun  to  dry,  when  it 
becomes  a  vessel  capable  of  holding  water,  and  often 
called  a  calabash.  Another  kind  is  called  the  bottle- 
gourd,  because  by  tying  a  band  round  the  fruit  when 
young,  it  is  made  to  grow  into  the  shape  of  a  bottle. 
For  many  reasons,  therefore,  these  great  fruits,  though 
all  kinds  are  not  equally  wholesome  for  food,  are  very 
precious,  and  are  much  grown  in  the  East.  You  know 
the  prophet  Isaiah  speaks  of  the  “  daughter  of  Zion 
being  left  like  a  lodge  in  a  garden  of  cucumbers,” 


232 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


meaning  the  little  hut  built  in  a  field  of  melons,  where 
a  man  might  be  set  to  watch,  lest  they  should  be  stolen. 
As  lonely  stood  Jerusalem  when  all  her  surrounding 
villages  had  been  destroyed. 

The  pumpkin  is  a  fine  handsome  gourd,  often  marbled 
with  patterns  of  green.  In  America,  it  is  much  used 
for  cattle,  and  I  believe  a  horse,  at  an  inn  door,  will 
eat  a  pumpkin  when  our  horses  would  be  having  hay. 
A  pumpkin  pie,  too,  is  one  of  the  favourite  dishes  ;  it 
is  what  we  should  call  a  pudding — there  is  no  crust 
over  it,  the  pumpkin  being  mashed  up  and  used  with 
egg  and  milk,  as  we  use  sago  or  arrow-root,  in  making 
a  pudding. 

Pumpkins  make  ns  think  of  Cinderella’s  coach,  and 
there  is  another  funny  story  of  them  with  which  I  will 
end  my  chapter.  It  is  rather  old,  but  perhaps  you 
may  not  know  it.  An  idle  man  once  lay  down  under 
an  oak  tree,  and  began  thinking  with  himself  how 
much  better  he  could  settle  the  world,  if  he  had  the 
power.  For  instance,  what  a  pity  it  was  to  see  such  a 
fine  lordly  tree  as  the  oak,  bearing  such  a  wretched  little 
fruit  as  the  acorn  ;  it  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  itself; 
while  there  was  the  pumpkin  going  crawling  on  the 
ground,  with  those  large  handsome  fruits.  For  his 
part,  he  thought  acorns  were  good  enough  for  such 
plants,  and  that  pumpkins  ought  to  grow  on  oak  trees. 

Just  then  he  felt  a  tap  on  his  nose ;  he  jumped  up 
in  a  hurry,  and  found  it  was  an  acorn  that  had  fallen 
on  him.  “  Oh  !”  cried  he,  “  how  lucky  this  was  not  a 
pumpkin !” 

You  may  have  your  laugh,  and  then  think  whether 
this  fable  does  not  show,  that  when  people  dare  to  find 
fault  with  the  wisdom  of  God’s  doings,  it  is  their  own 
ignorance  that  is  displayed. 


233 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

CLASSES  XXII.  AND  XXIII. — DOUBLY-DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 

Oltr  last  chapter  was  on  plants  that  keep  their  stamens 
and  pistils  in  separate  flowers  on  the  same  plant,  this 
must  be  on  those  that  are  still  further  divided,  one  plant 
bearing  nothing  but  pistils,  and  another  nothing  but 
stamens.  Thus  some  trees  are  entirely  barren,  and 
never  bear  any  fruit  at  all,  and  yet  if  we  pulled  them 
all  up,  those  which  now  bear  fruit  would  be  equally  un¬ 
productive.  For  instance,  some  yew  trees  are  in  the 
spring  covered  with  white  floury  heads  of  pollen,  while 
on  others  we  see  hardly  any  promise,  and  yet  as  autumn 
comes  on,  those  are  bare  which  showed  the  line  blos¬ 
som,  while  the  others  are  wearing  little  green  cups  with 
large  seeds  projecting  from  them,  much  like  acorns, 
and  in  time  the  cups  become  waxy  red,  and  the  seeds 
black. 

But  we  do  not  blame  the  barren  plant  for  showing 
us  no  fruit,  for  the  truth  is,  that  it  renders  the  other 
fertile;  just  as  there  are  many  good  quiet  people  who 
make  no  show  in  the  world,  and  yet  to  whose  example 
and  advice  it  is  owing  that  their  friends  do  great  deeds. 
What  a  pistil-bearing  plant  is,  without  its  barren 
neighbour,  is  shown  by  a  foreign  pine  in  the  gardens 
at  Kew,  the  only  one  of  its  species  in  England.  Every 
year  it  tries  to  form  a  fir-cone,  every  year  the  young 
cone  withers  away  for  want  of  the  fertilizing  pollen. 
The  Italian  pond-plant,  vallisneria,  is  the  oddest  of  the 
tribe — its  stamen  flowers  unfasten  themselves,  and 
float  on  the  water  to  feed  the  pistils  with  pollen. 


234 


THE  HERB  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


Who  does  not  love,  in  early  February,  to  walk  out 
by  the  side  of  the  hedge,  or  coppice  wood,  while  all  is 
moist  and  fresh,  as  the  sun  melts  the  morning  frost,  and 
shines  with  a  sweet  warm  brightness  that  makes  us 
talk  of  spring  coming  fast,  and  spy  about  to  see  if  the 
dear  green  world  within  the  brown  hedge  is  feeling  it 
yet  ? 

The  honeysuckle  is  thinking  about  it ;  aye,  and  on 
certain  purplish  twigs  there  shine  tufts  of  silver  down, 
growing  alternately  on  each  side  of  the  stem.  “  Pussy  ! 
pussy  !”  we  scream  with  joy — the  withy  is  putting  on 
its  silver  buttons,  and  up  we  scramble  to  pull  down  a 
bough,  and  stroke  our  lips  with  that  softest,  silkiest  of 
down,  the  little  scales,  within  which  the  buds  are  safely 
and  warmly  guarded  from  the  frosts  that  will  nightly 
brace  the  young  bough,  or  should  the  spring  be  rainy, 
this  same  smooth  down  serves,  like  the  fur  of  a  cat,  or 
the  feathers  of  a  duck,  to  keep  the  wet  from  soaking 
into  the  little  tender  things  so  carefully  protected. 

Sweet  spring-like  silver  pussies,  that  last  all  the  cold 
ungenial  time,  cheerful  and  kindly !  we  are  half  sorry 
to  part  with  you,  when  you  shoot  out  into  the  goslings, 
which,  however,  we  love  quite  as  well.  And  don’t  the 
bees  love  them  ?  Their  first  taste  of  fresh  sweet  pollen 
after  their  winter’s  sleep  !  How  they  buzz  round,  and 
load  their  legs,  and  what  a  baking  of  bee-bread  there 
must  be,  on  those  March  days,  when  brighter  sunshine 
has  unlocked  the  green  buds,  and  brought  out  the  two 
yellow  stamens,  and  the  delicious  smell  from  within 
each  of  the  silver  scales. 

The  tufts  certainly  are  much  like  downy  yellow 
goslings,  and  are,  therefore,  well  named  from  them, 
soft  sweet  things  that  they  are  ;  but  we  also  call  them 
Palms,  because  they  are  in  some  parts  of  England 


DOUBLY-DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


235 


carried  to  church  on  Palm  Sunday,  since  we  have  no 
real  palm  trees,  in  remembrance  of  the  branches  that 
the  disciples  cut  down  from  the  trees.  In  other  places 
the  yew  branch  is  used  instead,  because  it  is  one  of  the 
few  trees  still  green,  and  its  dark  leaves  show  why  our 
Lord  was  come  to  Jerusalem  on  that  day,  but  I  think 
the  Palm  or  withy  suits  best.  Its  fragrant  soft  golden 
blossoms  dare  the  cold  blast  of  early  spring  ;  and  it  is 
foremost  of  trees  in  its  praise  to  its  Maker,  like  the 
little  children  crying  Hosanna  in  that  time  of  trouble 
and  persecution. 

These  yellow  blossoms  are  the  catkins,  the  barren 
flowers.  The  fertile  ones  are  not  so  pretty,  they  have 
thick  green  pistils,  in  a  spike,  each  with  a  little  downy 
wing  to  fly  away  with  when  the  seed  is  perfect.  The 
leaf  comes  out  much  later  than  the  “  kindly  flower.” 
The  withy  belongs  to  the  great  genus  of  Willow,  or 
Osier,  called  in  Latin,  Scilix.  There  are  fifty  English 
kinds,  and  plenty  more  in  other  countries.  Most  of 
them  have  a  longer  and  more  drooping  catkin  than  the 
gosling ;  but  this,  as  well  as  the  pistil,  always  is  downy. 
They  are  a  useful  kind,  as  baskets  small  and  great  can 
testify,  beginning  from  the  huge  bushel  basket,  which, 
when  full  loaded,  bows  down  the  strong  man,  to  the  ex¬ 
quisite  little  delicate  white  thing  that  balances  on  the 
tip  of  our  finger,  and  just  holds  some  bright  little  pin¬ 
cushion.  We  English  have  been  famous  for  our  basket- 
work  since  the  days  of  wicker  chariots,  and  British 
baskets,  after  which  the  Roman  ladies  eagerly  sought. 
In  Holland  the  bending,  yielding  osier,  is  still  more 
valuable,  for  it  serves  to  protect  the  great  mud  banks 
that  keep  the  sea  from  overflowing  the  flat  country  be¬ 
low,  and  thus  becomes  a  wall  to  preserve  the  whole 
population  from  ruin.  Anything  harder  would  break 


23  G 


TIIE  HERB  OF  TIIE  FIELD. 


under  tlie  pressure  of  the  water,  but  the  osier  can  bend 
and  yet  retain  its  hold. 

The  graceful  weeping  willow,  with  its  long  drooping 
light  green  boughs,  looks  very  pretty  hanging  over  the 
water,  and  we  honour  it  and  look  at  it  with  liking,  be¬ 
cause  as  its  Latin  name,  Salix  Babylonica ,  reminds  us,  it 
was  the  tree  which  grew  beside  the  Euphrates,  where 
the  children  of  Judah  hung  their  harps  when  they  sat 
down  and  wept,  and  those  who  led  them  away  “captive 
desired  of  them  a  song,  and  melody  in  their  heaviness.” 
The  first  weeping-willow  that  came  to  England  was 
brought  from  the  marshes  of  “  proud  Euphrates’ 
stream.”  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  read  the  story 
of  some  young  weeping-willows  that  grow  on  the 
banks  of  the  Thames,  in  the  beautiful  playing-fields  at 
Eton.  You  must  know  that  many  and  many  years  ago, 
some  boys  named  Wellesley  were  sent  to  school  there, 
and  there  they  did,  as  they  did  through  all  their  long 
lives,  what  they  had  to  do,  with  all  their  might,  and 
looked  chiefly,  as  he  who  has  just  been  taken  from  us 
once  said,  “  to  doing  their  duty  in  that  state  of  life 
in  which  they  had  been  placed.”  It  is  not,  however, 
of  the  great  Duke  that  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  but  of 
his  elder  brother,  who  learnt  at  Eton  to  make  Latin 
verses,  which  to  you  no  doubt  sounds  like  most  difficult 
work,  and  many  boys  hate  very  much.  But  he  did  his 
best  in  work  and  play,  and  so  he  learnt  to  love  them 
both.  Well,  he  grew  up,  and  became  a  great  man,  and 
was  made  governor  general  of  India,  and  great  con¬ 
quests  took  place  under  his  rule ;  and  the  two  brothers 
were  so  great,  that  Buonaparte  said  the  Wellesleys  had 
done  so  much  for  England,  he  thought  they  must  mean 
to  make  themselves  princes  of  it,  for  he  had  no  notion 
how  men  could  love  their  duty  better  than  themselves. 


DOUBLY-DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


237 


But  after  all  this  greatness,  when  Marquis  Wellesley 
grew  old,  what  do  you  think  was  one  of  his  favourite 
amusements  ?  It  was  writing  Latin  verses,  as  he  had 
done  in  his  school-boy  days,  and  one  of  the  prettiest 
poems  he  ever  made  was  in  both  Latin  and  English, 
about  the  willows  of  Babylon,  and  the  captive  Jews 
lamenting  for  their  sins  and  their  exile.  And  when  he 
died,  at  eighty-three  years  of  age,  he  desired  to  be 
buried  in  the  chapel  at  Eton,  and  that  three  weeping 
willows  should  be  planted  in  the  playing-fields,  that 
other  Eton  boys  might  be  put  in  mind  that  as  Sion  was 
ruined  because  her  people  fell  from  their  God,  so  our 
only  hope  of  safety  and  prosperity  is  in  holding  fast  by 
Him,  or,  as  he  says  in  his  verses,  that  “  God’s  blessing 
on  sound  faith  is  Britain’s  force.”  And  though  you 
are  not  an  Eton  boy,  and  will  never  be  governor  of 
India,  yet  I  think  you  can  see  from  his  example  how 
to  make  your  present  tasks  and  way  of  life  a  bright 
remembrance  to  go  with  you  through  all  your  days  to 
come,  whether  many  or  few. 

A  good  many  trees  belong  to  this  twenty-second 
class,  but  I  have  told  you  about  most  of  them,  and  will 
just  mention  one  which  bears  downy  catkins,  very 
beautiful,  though  most  likely  you  never  noticed  them ; 
and  no  wonder,  for  they  are  so  high  up,  that  unless 
there  was  a  very  high  wind  to  shake  them  down,  they 
would  never  come  in  your  way — I  mean  the  poplar. 
Its  eight  stamens  are  of  as  beautiful  a  crimson  colour 
as  ever  you  saw,  hanging  from  a  curious  little  fringed 
scale,  the  pistil-bearing  tiowers  are  green,  also  in  cat¬ 
kins.  The  poplar  came  to  us  from  Italy,  and  is  the 
most  tall  and  straight  of  all  our  trees.  An  old- 
fashioned  cottage,  with  a  row  of  poplars  before  it,  and 
bee-hives  under  them,  is  one  of  our  pleasantest  sights, 


238 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


but  unluckily  for  the  poor  poplar,  its  Latin  name 
populus  is  also  the  word  for  the  people,  and  so  the 
factious  Roman  first,  and  afterwards  the  French, 
chose  to  take  it  as  a  sort  of  mark  of  rebellion.  The 
French,  in  the  Revolution  of  1848,  went  about  trans¬ 
planting  the  poplars  from  the  gardens  where  they  were 
quietly  growing,  and  setting  them  up  in  the  squares  of 
Paris,  calling  them  trees  of  liberty,  shouting,  and  firing 
cannon,  and  hanging  them  over  with  wreaths  of  ever¬ 
lasting  flowers.  Of  course  the  poor  trees  all  died,  and 
when  the  people  had  grown  tired  of  all  this  nonsense, 
Louis  Napoleon  had  them  all  pulled  up  and  burnt.  I 
hope  our  tall  honest  poplar  trees  will  never  be  put  to 
so  bad  a  use. 

The  bending  four-stamened  birch,  and  the  trembling 
aspen,  are  of  this  class  too ;  the  catkins  of  the  aspen 
come  tumbling  down  in  May,  and  strew  the  paths  so 
that  I  have  often  taken  them  for  hairy  caterpillars. 
Mistletoe  and  butcher’s  broom  you  will  find  among  our 
Christmas  evergreens,  so  we  will  not  wait  to  talk  about 
them,  but  go  on  to  a  relation  of  our  old  friends,  the 
five-stamened  climbers  with  pinnate  leaves — I  mean  the 
hop.  If  you  live  in  a  hop  district,  you  know  the  look 
and  smell  of  them  most  intimately,  as  they  hang  in 
festoons  on  their  poles,  and  you  will  not  think  that 
“hopping”  means  nothing  but  going  on  one  leg,  as 
some  other  children  would  say.  Almost  everywhere 
the  hop  grows  wild,  flinging  its  beautiful  leaves  about 
on  the  hedges,  and  curling  its  twisted  stem  round  the 
bushes,  and  very  nice  the  hop  tops  or  young  shoots  are  if 
pinched  short  off,  boiled,  and  eaten  on  toast  like  asparagus. 
The  barren  blossoms  have  a  little  green  calyx,  contain¬ 
ing  five  yellow  stamens,  which  stand  up  boldly;  the 
fertile  flowers  droop  in  a  beautiful  head  of  loose  green 


DOUBLY-DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


239 


scales,  each  containing  a  single  pistil,  and  these  are  the 
hops  which  are  gathered  in  such  quantities  in  Kent 
and  Surrey,  and  serve  to  give  bitterness  to  beer. 
Whole  families  come  out  to  the  hopping,  and  it  is  a 
time  when  the  Irish  pour  in  in  numbers  to  earn  the 
money  that  they  hope  will  support  them  for  the  rest  of 
the  year.  Other  swarms  come  after  the  hops,  a  little 
aphis,  an  insect  such  as  we  call  blight,  lives  on  them, 
and  would  do  much  harm,  if  it  was  not  in  its  turn  the 
food  of  the  beautiful  lady-bird,  who  as  sure  as  the  hop- 
aphis  arrives,  spreads  the  gauzy  wings  under  her  scarlet 
shining  wing-cases,  and  flies  after  it  as  fast  as  if,  as  the 
rhyme  tells  her,  her  house  was  on  fire,  and  her  children 
burning. 

Though  hops  are  so  common  now,  there  were  none 
in  England  till  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  when  the 
saying  is — 

“  Hops  and  turkeys,  mackerel  and  beer, 

Came  to  England  all  in  one  year.” 

The  hops  came  from  Flanders,  and  with  them,  I 
suppose,  the  French  name  of  beer,  for  ale  had  been 
English  drink,  time  out  of  mind,  and  had  been  made 
with  the  pretty  blue  ground-ivy  instead  of  hops,  as  the 
name  ale-lioof  still  reminds  us. 

Next  we  come  to  the  six-stamened  black  bryony, 
not  the  five-stamened  white  bryony  which  we  had  in 
the  former  class.  This  has  heart-shaped  and  very 
glossy  leaves,  small  green  blossoms,  no  tendrils,  and 
very  red  berries  succeeding  its  single  pistil,  and  look¬ 
ing  very  brilliant  in  the  autumn  when  the  leaves  have 
turned  bright  yellow. 

Of  nine-stamened  plants  we  have  more  than  could 
be  expected,  considering  that  the  flowering  rush  stands 
alone  in  the  ninth  class.  There  is  an  odd  uncommon 


240 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


water-plant  with  three  white  petals,  called  Frog-bit, 
which  is  a  great  prize  to  botanists ;  and  under  every 
hedge  in  early  spring  grows  a  green  plant  with  shining 
leaves  and  long  narrow  loose  spikes  of  little  green 
flowers.  This  is  the  Dog’s  Mercury — why  so  called  I 
cannot  tell  you,  nor  is  it  of  much  use,  but  everyone 
likes  it  for  the  sake  of  spring. 

In  the  yew-tree  the  barren  flowers  have  neither 
calyx  nor  corolla,  but  are  like  a  cluster  of  little  white 
stands — for  the  bunches  of  small  stamens,  covered  with 
light  buff  pollen,  which  forms  a  round,  floury-looking 
head  in  March  or  April,  when  shaken,  will  cover  the 
tree  with  white  dust.  The  fertile  flowers  are  little 
scaly  white  cups,  with  a  single  germ,  and  as  they  are 
not  nearly  so  conspicuous  as  the  barren  ones,  we  are 
apt  to  wonder  in  autumn  why  the  trees  which  were  so 
full  of  blossom  are  now  without  fruit. 

The  fruit  is  a  very  pretty  berry ;  the  seed  swells  and 
grows  black,  and  the  calyx  gradually  enlarges  and  be¬ 
comes  fleshy,  till  it  grows  into  a  beautiful  waxen  cup 
of  a  soft  red  colour,  unlike  anything  else,  containing 
the  black,  or  rather  deep  brown,  stone. 

Yew  berries  are  said  to  be  poisonous,  and  though 
I  have  seen  boys  perched  all  over  an  old  yew-tree, 
devouring  them  with  all  their  might,  yet  as  I  believe 
village  boys  will  eat  anything,  whether  wholesome  or 
not,  and  have  a  stronger  digestion  than  most  people,  I 
would  advise  you  to  consider  the  berries  as  rather  in¬ 
tended  to  please  your  eyes  than  your  mouth. 

One  part  of  the  yew-tree  is  certainly  poisonous  to 
cattle,  the  leaves  and  young  shoots,  especially  when 
withered.  They  do  not  seem  to  be  equally  dangerous 
when  fresh  ;  but  horses,  cows,  and  pigs,  have  frequently 
been  killed  by  eating  the  half-faded  clippings  of  a  yew- 


DOUBLY-DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


241 


hedge.  So  if  ever  you  have  to  do  with  the  sweeping 
up  of  such  clippings,  be  careful  they  are  thrown  where 
animals  are  not  likely  to  get  at  them. 

In  former  times  it  used  to  be  the  fashion  to  orna¬ 
ment  gardens  with  yew-trees  clipped  into  all  manner 
of  wonderful  shapes — peacocks,  lions,  fans,  and  pyra¬ 
mids — and  a  book  was  even  published  on  the  art  of 
shaping  them.  Even  now  we  sometimes  see,  and  very 
snug  it  looks,  a  gateway  under  an  arch  of  well-clipped 
yew ;  and  sometimes  an  old  church-yard,  with  a  yew- 
tree  cut  into  the  shape  of  a  perfect  mushroom,  with  a 
bench  round  the  trunk,  completely  sheltered  from  the 
rain  by  the  matted  branches  and  close  foliage. 

The  yew-tree  looks  best  of  all  on  the  borders  of 
chalk  downs,  great  round  dark-green  bushes  standing 
up  in  the  hedges,  like  over-grown  shrubs,  of  such  curi¬ 
ous  shapes  that  you  may  know  your  old  friends  for 
miles  off,  and  their  huge,  thick,  short  trunks,  containing 
such  quantities  of  dry,  crumbling,  dead  wood,  that  it  is 
only  a  wonder  how  they  can  prosper  as  well  outwardly 
as  they  seem  to  do. 

I  believe  there  is  hardly  any  tree  that  lives  so  long 
as  the  yew.  It  is  two  years  before  the  seed  grows  at 
all,  and  then  it  is  very  slow  in  getting  on  ;  and  when 
it  has  reached  its  prime,  it  is  so  hard,  and  the  thick 
ever-green  leaves  keep  out  wet  so  well,  that  it  is  still 
longer  in  decaying.  Perhaps  some  of  the  yew-trees 
may  still  be  green  and  fresh,  which  stood  when  they 
were  thought  so  much  of  for  the  archery  of  England. 
Perhaps  these  old  fellows  gave  some  of  their  branches 
to  furnish  the  tough  yew  bows  which  sent  the  cloth- 
yard  shafts  that  won  the  battles  of  Crecy  and  Poitiers, 
and  many  another  besides  ;  and  the  English  yeomen 
and  peasants,  thanks  to  Magna  Charta,  were  well- 

16 


242 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


cared-for,  well-protected,  prosperous  men,  willing  to 
use  their  good  yew  bows  in  their  monarch’s  cause. 

Yew  branches  are  the  Easter  deckings  of  churches, 
and  sometimes  are  carried  on  Palm-Sunday,  as  the 
nearest  approach  we  have  to  the  palm. 

And  they  have  from  very  old  times  been  grown  in 
church-yards ;  indeed,  King  Edward  I.  made  a  law 
that  they  should  there  be  planted. 

To  the  stamen  brotherhoods  belongs  the  juniper, 
which  is  not  unlike  the  yew,  and  grows  in  low  gloomy- 
looking  tufts  on  bleak  hill  sides.  It  has  dark-purple 
berries,  and  it  has  hardly  any  blossom.  You  remember 
that  Elijah  sat  him  down  under  a  juniper-tree  in  the 
wilderness  when  he  requested  for  himself  that  he  might 
die,  and  when  the  angel  came  to  him,  and  brought  him 
the  food  that  sustained  him  in  his  journey  to  mount  Sinai. 

The  real  palm-trees  belong  to  the  divided  families. 
They  are  the  last  I  shall  have  to  mention  of  those 
plants  that  bud  at  once  from  the  ground  nearly  at  their 
full  thickness,  and  grow  joint  by  joint,  or  sheath  by 
sheath,  not  by  forming  layers  of  wood.  These  tribes, 
remember,  are  the  grasses,  reeds,  lilies,  orchises,  and 
now  the  palms.  The  growth  of  an  asparagus  is  more 
like  that  of  a  palm-tree  than  anything  we  have  here, 
and  I  have  read  that  an  infant  palm,  when  it  is  in 
the  state  in  which  we  eat  asparagus  shoots,  is  more 
like  a  wheat-sheaf  than  anything  else.  Thus  the  palm- 
tree  never  forms  such  firm  solid  wood  as  to  be  of 
much  use,  and  the  inner  part  is  the  weakest  instead  of 
the  strongest.  The  great  body  of  leaves  all  grow  out 
together  at  the  top,  and  enormous  and  beautiful  leaves 
they  are,  all  in  one,  spreading  out  so  as  to  form  a 
glorious  crown  for  the  tree,  taller  than  any  tree  we 
ever  see  here. 


DOUBLY-DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


243 


These  unfading  palm-leaves  have  always  been  the 
tokens  of  victory.  The  Bible  speaks  of  them  as  borne 
by  the  martyr-host  in  heaven,  and  they  are  believed  to 
have  been  the  branches  strewn  by  the  disciples  on  the 
entrance  into  Jerusalem.  On  Palm-Sunday,  through 
all  the  south  of  Europe,  they  are  carried  in  procession, 
solemnly  blessed,  and  laid  up  with  high  honour  to  be 
kept  for  the  rest  of  the  year. 

The  palm  of  Palestine  is,  I  believe,  the  date  palm, 
which  has  feathery  leaves,  and  bears  the  sweet  fruit 
that  is  so  precious  to  the  Arabs  in  the  desert, 
forming  almost  their  whole  subsistence  on  long 
journeys. 

It  is  one  of  those  that  can  live  furthest  from  the 
equator  ;  these  trees  in  general  can  only  bear  a  very  hot 
climate.  The  only  one  I  ever  saw  was  in  a  hot-house, 
a  fan -palm,  it  grew  much  like  a  grass,  but  at  the  joint, 
instead  of  hanging  down  a  streamer,  it  put  out  a  cir¬ 
cular  fan  with  a  jagged  edge.  Some  palms  have  a 
very  few  leaves,  spreading  out  like  umbrellas,  but  im¬ 
mense  feathers  and  plumes  are  the  most  usual  shape. 
Some  are  deep  green,  some  silver- white  on  the  under 
side,  some  fringed  with  yellow  and  blue.  I  cannot  tell 
you  half  what  I  have  read  of  their  beauty.  You 
must  look  for  it  in  foreign  books,  especially  those 
about  South  America,  and  the  South-Sea  Islands,  in 
which  places  they  grow  to  the  grandest  size.  That 
which  is  best  known  to  us  is  the  cocoa-nut  palm,  at 
least  its  hard  round  fruits  are.  Fine  fellows,  as  large 
as  a  baby’s  head,  covered  with  brown  fibre,  and  their 
shell  so  hard,  that  it  will  serve  to  break  a  man’s  head, 
as  the  ill-treated  elephant  showed.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  nut  are  the  three  spots,  called  the  monkey’s  face, 
two  hard,  the  third  soft,  as  the  young  plant  might  have 


244 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


sprouted  through  it.  Piercing  this,  out  flows  the 
delicious  cocoa-nut  milk,  with  its  nutty  flavour,  nearly 
a  wine-glass  full,  even  when  we  have  them  here,  after 
a  long  voyage.  Then,  when  the  nut  is  sawn  in  two, 
we  find  each  half  lined  with  a  white  substance  as 
pleasant  to  the  taste  as  the  milk  ;  and  when  this  is 
eaten,  the  shells  make  nice  strong  bowls,  and  may  be 
prettily  carved  by  those  who  are  clever  enough.  As 
walnuts  have  a  green  case  outside  their  shell,  so  cocoa- 
nuts  are  packed  in  immense  triangular  coverings,  con¬ 
sisting  of  brown  fibre.  Perhaps  the  use  of  them  to  the 
nut  is,  that  it  may  not  be  broken  by  falling  from  such  a 
height  as  the  top  of  the  tree.  To  the  natives  of  the 
Asiatic  Islands  they  are  useful  for  cordage,  and  to  us 
for  matting  and  many  other  purposes. 

The  Pirijao  of  South  America  has  the  handsomest 
fruit  in  the  world,  egg-shaped,  as  large  as  a  peach,  of 
a  golden  colour,  shaded  with  crimson  on  one  side.  It 
grows  in  clusters  of  seventy  or  eighty,  like  giants’ 
painted  grapes,  each  tree  bearing  three  of  these 
mighty  bunches,  hanging  down  under  delicate  flag-like 
leaves,  curled  at  the  edges,  all  at  the  summit  of  one 
straight  trunk  sixty  or  seventy  feet  in  height.  There 
are  seldom  seeds  in  these  lovely  fruits,  which  are  used 
by  the  Indians  like  potatoes.  In  fact,  1  believe  there 
is  no  palm  that  is  not  in  some  Avay  useful,  and  of 
which  the  fruit  is  not  wholesome.  The  stamen-bearing 
flowers  are,  in  some  kinds,  very  handsome,  generally 
growing  like  those  of  their  lesser  lily-like  cousins,  in  a 
spatha.  They  are  generally  yellowish  and  crowded 
closely  together,  but  now  and  then  they  are  large  and 
of  a  dazzling  white,  hanging  down  in  resplendent  gar¬ 
lands.  But  there  are  multitudes  of  palms  besides  those 
that  have  been  correctly  described,  and  I  must  men- 


DOUBLY-DIVIDED  FAMILIES. 


245 


tion  no  more,  except  one  word  of  the  plantain,  the 
king  of  leaves,  one  leaf  large  enough  to  roof  a  small 
house  ! 

There  is  another  class,  the  twenty-third,  where  the 
flowers  are  very  irregular,  some  are  perfect,  with  both 
stamens  and  pistils,  others  have  only  stamens,  and 
others  only  pistils.  The  only  wild  flowers  of  this  class 
are  the  pellitory-of-the-wall,  which  has  small  purple 
flowers  in  tufts,  and  the  orache,  almost  a  goose-foot. 

The  mimosa  is  of  this  race;  it  has  very  pretty  balls 
of  blossom,  and  one  sort  is  called  the  sensitive  plant, 
because,  if  a  finger  is  held  near  it,  the  leaves  shrink 
and  fold  back  in  dread  before  it  can  even  touch  them. 

Were  you  ever  puzzled  to  find  the  blossom  of  the 
fig?  Strange  to  sa}^,  the  fig’s  flower  is  inside  its  fruit. 
You  know  the  little  green  figs  in  the  spring.  They 
hold  the  flowers.  If  you  cut  them  open,  you  would 
find  them  full  of  the  little  things,  some  perfect,  others 
imperfect.  Their  perfection  consists  in  having  three 
stamens  and  a  pistil  with  one  seed.  If  they  have  onlv 
stamens,  the  calyx  is  three-cleft ;  if  only  pistils,  it  is 
five-parted.  The  great  Banyan  of  India,  the  tree  which 
sends  down  branches,  and  roots  them  again,  so  as  to  be 
a  whole  grove  in  itself,  has  a  scarlet  fig,  and  there  are 
many  other  sorts.  That  with  the  palmate  leaves,  and 
grv  en  figs,  which  grows  in  our  gardens,  is,  as  you  will 
be  pleased  to  hear,  the  fig-tree  of  Palestine,  the  same 
sort  that  shaded  Nathanael,  and  that,  growing  with  the 
vine,  gave  to  the  Israelites  the  idea  of  plenty  and  of 
peace.  The  oldest  fig-tree  in  England  is  at  Oxford, 
whither  it  was  brought  from  Aleppo  in  the  reign  of 
King  Charles  I.,  and  it  is  so  strong  and  healthy,  that 
in  1833  its  figs  gained  a  prize. 

Here  ends  my  list  of  the  plants  with  stamens  and 


246 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


pistils — one  more  chapter  upon  the  unseen  blossoms 
that  we  have  missed  before,  and  I  shall  have  told  you 
all  I  know,  or  think  you  would  understand,  about  the 
vegetable  world. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CLASS  XXIV. — FUNGUSES. 

Our  chapters  have  brought  us  back  to  the  unseen  blos¬ 
soms  again  ;  for  the  twenty-fourth,  the  last  class,  con¬ 
sists  entirely  of  these,  and  includes  those  of  which  I 
spoke  to  you  in  the  autumn  months — namely,  the  ferns, 
mosses,  and  lichens,  with  three  other  races,  which  I 
did  not  then  mention — the  horse-tails,  mushrooms,  and 
sea-weeds. 

The  horse-tails,  or  Dutch  rushes,  are  spoken  of  by 
some  books  as  a  sort  of  fern,  and  in  some  respects  they 
do  resemble  them.  I  think  you  can  hardly  fail  to  know 
them  by  sight,  for  in  poor  ground  they  are  a  very 
troublesome  Aveed.  They  have  one  holloAv  light-green 
stem,  in  sheaths  one  Avithin  the  other,  each  joint  mark¬ 
ed  bv  a  black  band,  and  bearing  no  leaves,  but  whorls 
of  straight  branches,  spreading  out  round  it  like  the 
spokes  of  a  wheel,  and  often  branched  again.  The 
edges  of  the  sheaths  are  deeply  cut,  and  bordered  very 
prettily  with  black.  The  stem  is  excessively  harsh, 
like  that  of  the  sedges,  and  for  the  same  reason  ;  it  is 
full  of  silex  or  flint,  Avhich,  with  a  powerful  magnifier, 
may  actually  be  seen  in  fine  grains,  and  it  is  so  rough 
as  to  be  sometimes  used  as  a  delicate  file.  The  plant 
looks  a  little  like  a  child’s  first  attempt  at  drawing  a 


FUNGUSES. 


247 


fir-tree ;  indeed,  I  have  known  a  person  who  had  never 
seen  the  horse-tail,  coming  on  a  quantity  of  it  sud¬ 
denly,  and  at  first  taking  it  for  a  plantation  of  young 
larches. 

This  is  when  it  is  in  its  wintry  state,  and  the  tree¬ 
like  stem  answers  to  the  frond  of  the  fern.  The  part 
which  answers  to  blossom  appears  early  in  the  year. 
It  is  a  curious-looking  thing,  growing  about  two  inches 
above  ground,  and  perhaps  it  may  have  puzzled  you : 
it  is  more  the  shape  of  a  nine-pin  than  of  anything  else 
that  I  know — a  nine-pin  with  a  head  I  mean,  an 
oblong  egg-shaped  head,  growing  on  a  straight  stalk, 
and  of  a  very  pale  buff  colour,  almost  white.  On  this 
head  spring  up  dark-brown  shields,  or  scales,  some¬ 
thing  like  those  of  the  shield-fern,  standing  up  like 
very  small  umbrellas,  and  containing  beneath  them  an 
immense  quantity  of  fine  light-coloured  dust.  Botanists 
puzzled  themselves  for  a  long  time  about  this  dust, 
whether  it  was  seed  or  pollen  ;  but  at  last,  when  look¬ 
ing  at  it  with  a  very  strong  glass,  as  it  lay  on  a  sheet 
of  white  paper,  it  was  found  that  some  of  the  particles 
had  minute  threads  proceeding  from  them,  and  that 
with  these  they  had  a  sort  of  motion,  like  that  of  a 
spider  on  its  eight  legs.  This  was  thought  to  be  like 
those  movements  by  which  some  seeds  are  known  to 
impel  themselves  towards  places  fit  for  their  growth, 
so  it  was  supposed  that  these  were  the  seed-grains,  and 
the  rest  of  the  dust  was  instead  of  pollen. 

As  to  the  fungus  race,  they  are  more  mysterious 
still,  and  more  unlike  other  plants.  They  seem  to 
begin  from  almost  nothing  ;  even  the  larger  sorts  are 
at  first  only  visible  in  a  thin  layer  of  something  like  a 
cobweb,  which,  when  something  happens  to  favour  its 
growth,  throws  up  little  humps,  which  gradually  grow 


248 


TIIE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


larger  and  longer,  and  gain  a  sort  of  stalk  ;  then,  if  cut 
in  two  lengthways,  there  appears  a  hollow  place,  and 
within  this  a  cap  is  formed,  supported  on  a  stem ;  the 
cap  and  stem  grow  on,  and  become  more  solid  and 
fleshy,  while  the  outer  case  grows  thinner  and  weaker, 
till  at  last  they  break  through  it,  and  show  themselves 
to  the  world,  a  sort  of  round  fleshy  table  with  one  leg, 
and  the  under-side  consisting  of  a  great  number  of  rays 
or  ribs,  which  botanists  call  gills,  and  believe  to  con¬ 
tain  purses  of  seeds,  though  these  have  never  been  seen, 
and  some  doubt  whether  there  are  any. 

The  morel  and  truffle  are  the  only  English  plants  of 
this  tribe  that  it  is  here  thought  safe  to  use  for  food, 
besides  the  mushroom,  an  excellent  example  of  the 
mode  of  growth.  You  all  know  the  pretty  white  head, 
and  the  bright  pink  gills  underneath,  that  one  looks  for 
so  anxiously,  to  see  whether  it  is  a  real  mushroom  or 
not ;  and  when  it  is  in  its  prime  you  may  see  the  re¬ 
mains  of  its  old  case,  hanging  down  like  a  binge  round 
the  edge  of  a  parasol,  and  making  a  sort  of  ornamental 
band  round  the  stem ;  or  when  it  has  not  yet  broken 
through  the  case,  do  we  not  know  it  well  as  a  button  ? 

Who  can  live  near  upland  meadows  and  not  like 
mushrooming?  The  baskets  we  prepare,  full  of  hope 
and  glee,  and  then  the  walk  on  the  fresh  autumn  day, 
the  green  short  grass,  and  then  the  merry  outcries, 
“  Oh  !  there’s  one  ;  I  see  such  a  beauty !”  and  the  race 
to  get  to  it  ending  often  in  “  Oh  dear !  it  is  nothing  but 
a  bit  of  chalk  !”  “  Well,  I  am  sure  I  see  a  whole  lot 

there ;  I  am  sure  they  are  mushrooms  this  time,  for 
they  are  in  a  ring !”  Another  race,  and  such  an  outcry 
from  the  first  to  come  up,  “  Puffs,  puffs  !  only  puffs  after 
all  !”  But  at  last  the  real  ring  is  spied  out,  arid  mush¬ 
rooms  free  from  doubt  or  blame  are  found,  white  above, 


FUNGUSES. 


249 


pink  below,  delicious  in  scent — some  old  and  brown, 
some  little  buttons,  but  all  worth  gathering  and  carry¬ 
ing  home,  perhaps  to  be  sorted  and  sold,  perhaps  to  be 
offered  as  a  great  present  to  the  elder  people’s  dinner. 
Under  a  hedge  an  enormous  mushroom  may  now  and 
then  be  found,  which,  though  pink,  white,  and  fragrant, 
some  people  call  a  horse-mushroom,  and  reject,  but  I 
don’t  believe  there  is  any  poison  in  it,  and  if  it  is  not  as 
delicate  as  the  smaller  kinds,  it  is  cpiite  fit  to  be  used 
for  catsup.  Mushrooms  grow,  as  we  have  said,  in 
dark-green  rings  on  the  grass ;  I  believe  this  is  because 
they  render  the  soil  richer,  and  therefore  the  grass 
grows  greener  among  their  roots,  if  roots  they  may  be 
called  ;  but  it  was  a  pretty  old  notion  that  these  rings 
were  made  by  fairies  dancing  in  circles,  and  that  he 
who  went  to  sleep  within  one  would  see  the  wonders 
of  Fairyland. 

It  is  not  only  the  true  mushroom  that  forms  fairy 
rings,  so  do  also  several  kinds  of  fungus,  or,  according 
to  their  English  name,  toadstools.  I  must  say  toads 
seem  to  be  better  accommodated  with  furniture  than 
any  other  animal,  to  judge  by  the  beautiful  cushions 
their  stools  sometimes  wear.  Here  is  one  covered  with 
rich  shining  crimsom  satin — another  with  crimson  vel¬ 
vet,  with  embossed  white  spots — another  of  the  most 
brilliant  orange — another  with  deep  purple — another  a 
beautiful  lilac,  with  white  lace-work  over  it,  like  a 
lady’s  ball-dress.  And  yet  you  would  most  likely  call 
them  nasty  poison  toadstools,  and  kick  them  over ! 

That  many  kinds  are  poisonous  to  man  is  quite  true, 
and  therefore  people  should  be  warned  against  them ;  • 
but  it  is  not  necessary  that  everything  should  be  of 
positive  use  to  us  to  be  admired,  and  I  do  not  think  we 
have  a  right  to  call  any  of  the  works  of  the  Creator, 


250 


THE  IIERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


nasty.  I  am  sure  we  should  not,  if  we  once  looked  well 
into  them. 

I  believe  the  wholesomeness  of  many  kinds  of  fungus 
depends  on  the  soil  in  which  they  grow,  and  the  climate 
of  their  country,  so  that  many  sorts  which  we  avoid 
are  eaten  in  Italy,  Germany,  and  Russia,  not  that  I 
would  by  any  means  advise  you  to  try  any  experiments 
upon  them. 

The  little  yellowish  toadstool  that  grows  in  fairy 
rings,  in  such  numbers  that  it  looks  as  if  it  might  be 
a  crowd  of  fairies,  has  a  French  name,  Chanterelle, 
which  we  may  call  it  by  if  we  wish  to  distinguish  it. 
The  ovate  toadstool  is  often  to  be  seen,  in  shape  much 
like  an  umbrella,  pale-brown  above,  and  darker  below, 
verging  on  purple,  and  the  great  oyster-toadstool  is  to 
be  found  in  damp  woods,  growing  on  stumps  of  old 
trees,  quite  white,  without  a  stem,  and  unlike  others  of 
its  tribe,  formed  like  a  cup  or  vase,  the  gills  outside, 
and  what  is  usually  the  cap,  concave  (or  hollow)  in¬ 
stead  of  convex,  often  in  most  graceful  forms.  There 
is  the  velvet-stalked  toadstool  also,  red  above,  and 
brown  below,  also  a  parasite  on  trees.  The  verdigris, 
and  the  orange-toadstool  you  may  likewise  find.  All 
these  with  gills  on  the  under  side  belong  to  the  genus 
called  in  Latin,  Agaricus,  in  English,  mushroom,  or 
toadstool.  They  all  flourish  chiefly  in  autumn,  and  de¬ 
light  in  damp,  and  what  we  should  call  unwholesomeness. 

Another  genus  has  no  English  name,  though  one 
species  at  least  is  common  in  England,  the  Boletus,  I 
mean,  a  red  shining  fungus,  growing  on  old  trees  in 
autumn,  very  glossy  and  polished  above,  and  beneath, 
of  a  spongy  consistence,  and  dull  greenish-yellow 
colour,  full  of  little  pores  or  holes,  which  are  supposed 
to  answer  the  same  purpose  as  the  gills. 


FUNGUSES. 


251 


The  morel  reverses  the  mushroom  ;  it  has  a  stem 
and  round  cap,  but  the  under  side  is  the  smooth  part, 
the  upper  is  covered  with  net-work.  One  sort  of  the 
morel  is  good  to  eat. 

The  puff-ball  shows  nothing  outside  but  a  hard 
white  case,  gathered  together  at  the  bottom.  In  its 
younger  state  the  inside  is  mealy,  not  unlike,  in  sub¬ 
stance  and  colour,  mustard  as  spread  on  a  poultice, 
but  when  ripe,  the  white  skin  splits,  and  lets  loose  an 
immense  quantity  of  the  finest  brown  dust,  supposed 
to  be  seed,  though  how  formed  no  one  knows.  Puff¬ 
balls  are  of  every  size,  from  a  marble  upwards ;  I  have 
seen  them  larger  than  a  cricket-ball,  and  it  is  said  that 
they  grow  as  big  as  a  man’s  head.  Everyone  knows 
the  funny  things,  and  how  many  have  been  angry  with 
them  for  pretending  to  look  like  mushrooms ;  and  yet 
they  are  a  very  good  sign,  for  wherever  they  grow, 
mushrooms  are  almost  certain  likewise  to  be  found. 
Many  boys  have  fired  off  their  dust  at  each  other,  and 
they  are  sometimes  dried  and  burnt  before  a  bee-hive, 
as  their  smoke  will  put  the  bees  to  sleep  without  killing 
them.  There  is  one  eatable  sort  of  puff,  the  truffle, 
which  grows  under  ground,  and  is  a  brown  unsightly 
thing,  not  by  any  means  like  the  white  ball  on  our 
downs.  It  is  found  and  gathered  in  a  curious  way,  by 
training  dogs,  and  sometimes  pigs,  to  smell  it  out, 
and  then  digging  for  it.  It  is  very  rare,  and  is  gene¬ 
rally  sent  to  London  to  fetch  a  high  price  for  great 
people’s  grand  dinners.  The  only  truffles  I  ever  saw 
were  brought  to  the  door  many  years  ago,  by  a  man 
who  had  his  little  clever  truffle-hunting  dog  with  him, 
quite  as  much  of  a  sight  as  the  strange  delicacies  he 
found. 

In  the  dry  ditches  and  hedge-sides  you  may  find,  in 


252 


THE  HEKB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


autumn  and  winter,  a  jewel  of  the  way-side,  perched 
upon  some  dry,  withered  old  stick.  It  is  an  exquisite 
scarlet  cup,  of  such  a  colour  as  no  paint  can  ever  equal, 
soft,  bright,  glowing,  well  suiting  its  name  of  fairy  bath. 
Where  could  Queen  Mab  find  a  more  beautiful  cup  to 
hold  her  dew-drop  bath?  They  grow  on  little  bits  of 
broken  stick,  and  serve  our  village  children  instead  of 
nosegays  in  the  winter.  It  is  a  great  prize  to  get  a 
large  one.  Their  Latin  name  is  Peziza. 

Other  kinds  of  fungus  are  like  jell)1" ;  there  is  a  yel¬ 
low  kind  especially  growing  on  old  railings,  and  named 
St.  Gundula’s  Lamp,  after  a  German  lady  who  used  to 
visit  the  poor  and  sick  in  the  early  dawn,  with  a  ser¬ 
vant  carrying  a  lamp  to  light  her  on  her  way.  The 
multitudes  of  fungus  are  indeed  beyond  reckoning,  they 
meet  us  everywhere,  wherever  there  is  decay  or  injury 
they  grow  up  ;  dry  rot  which  destroys  timber  is  be¬ 
lieved  to  be  a  fungus ;  so  is  smut  in  wheat ;  and  some 
people  think  the  same  of  the  potato  blight.  Funguses 
grow  in  every  unexpected  place  ;  white  furry  forests 
of  them,  by  name  mildew,  start  up  on  preserves,  and 
dismay  the  housekeeper.  Blue  mould  makes  woods  for 
the  mites  to  range  in  on  an  old  cheese,  and  grows  up 
feeding  on  the  blacking  of  old  shoes.  Anything  will 
make  a  soil  ‘‘or  these  smallest  of  vegetables — ink,  jam, 
leather,  paper,  wood,  they  want  nothing  but  damp  to 
set  them  growing,  and  where  or  what  they  spring  from 
is  beyond  the  guess  of  any  wise  man  who  ever  yet 
lived,  unless  he  has  the  true  wisdom  to  turn  all  his 
knowledge  into  what  each  little  child  starts  from,  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  all  learning,  that  God  made 
them  all,  and  His  ways  are  past  finding  out. 


253 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CLASS  XXIV. — SEA-WEEDS. 

One  tribe  more  remains,  the  sea-weeds,  as  strange 
and  untraceable  as  the  other  unseen  blossoms.  Some 
seem  to  have  stems  and  leaves — fronds,  as  they  are 
called — and  seed-producing  organs,  with  shields  or 
purses,  but  these  are  only  the  more  perfect  kinds ; 
others  are  all  jelly  or  moist  leafiness  and  fibre,  and 
produce  other  plants  from  any  part.  Of  those  that  do 
produce  seed,  the  greater  number  have  two  different 
kinds  of  parts  for  the  purpose ;  but  both  these  form 
seed,  so  that  they  cannot  answer  to  the  stamens  and 
pistils  of  other  plants. 

Their  colours  are  either  green,  olive,  or  red,  in  every 
kind  of  shade.  The  green  kinds  generally  grow  in 
shallow  water,  the  olive  in  somewhat  deeper,  the  red 
in  the  deepest  of  all ;  but  this  is  only  a  general  rule, 
and  there  are  many  exceptions. 

Some  grow  rooted  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  or  on 
stones,  rocks,  or  even  shells ;  others  float  about  on  the 
water.  I  have  been  so  little  by  the  sea-side  that  I  have 
very  little  acquaintance  with  these  wonders,  and  of 
those  that  I  remember  by  sight,  I  did  not  know  the 
proper  names,  for  it  was  before  I  learnt  any  botany. 
There  was  what  we  used  to  call  the  lion’s-tail,  but 
which  is  rightly  the  sea-tangle,  or  wand,  a  hard  stem 
as  large  round  as  a  walking-stick,  ending  in  a  bunch  of 
long  broad  streamers  or  ribbons,  all  dark  brown,  and 
somewhat  slimy  to  the  touch,  and  very  salt  in  smell,  aye, 
and  making  our  fingers  so  ;  but  little  we  recked  of  that, 


254 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


when  we  danced  about,  dragging  them  behind  us,  on 
the  shingly  beach.  Those  are  certainly  rooted,  and 
now  and  then,  when  brought  ashore  by  the  tide,  bring 
a  stone  with  them,  as  well  as  a  number  of  little  limpet- 
shells,  whose  inhabitants  live  on  them.  The  fructifi¬ 
cation  is  hard  to  find ;  it  is  in  little  clouds  of  purses  in 
the  body  of  the  streamers.  In  Scotland  these  used  to 
be  eaten,  and  where  wood  was  scarce,  knife  handles, 
and  other  small  matters,  have  been  made  of  the  stem. 
Some  people  hang  up  a  lion’s-tail  in  their  houses,  be¬ 
cause  damp  in  the  air  makes  it  stretch,  so  that  it  serves 
to  show  them  what  the  weather  is  likely  to  be. 

Thinking  about  the  lion’s-tails  I  played  with  before  I 
was  seven  years  old,  has  brought  back  the  recollection 
of  another  branched  pretty  sort,  which  we  used  to  find 
bordering  high-water  mark,  generally  rather  dry  and 
old.  This  had  swellings  along  it,  from  which  it  is  called 
knotted  fucus.  They  were,  in  fact,  hollow  places  filled 
with  air,  the  use  of  them  being  to  make  it  float  on  the 
water  ;  and  it  is  the  same  again  with  another  sort,  look¬ 
ing  like  a  string  of  brown  gooseberries.  These  the  little 
boy  who  was  my  sea-side  playfellow,  used  to  crack,  as 
inland  children  do  poppies,  and  you  may  hear  them 
snap  under  the  foot  as  you  tread  on  them.  If  you  want 
a  name  for  it,  you  may  call  it  swine-tangle ;  the  people 
of  Gothland  call  it  so,  because  they  give  it  to  their 
pigs,  when  boiled  and  mixed  with  flour.  The  blossom 
is  at  the  end  of  the  fronds. 

These,  and  many  more  which  I  do  not  remember, 
used  to  be  our  delight  in  a  little  rocky  hollow  of  the 
beach,  covered  with  grey  and  red  shingly  stones, 
famous  for  ducks  and  drakes.  It  was  no  place  for 
shells,  except  limpets,  and  the  solid  part  of  the  cuttle¬ 
fish  ;  but  there  were  the  fresh  curling  breaking  waves, 


SEA-WEEDS. 


255 


and  such  a  distance  of  the  blue  bright  sea.  We  were 
very  happy  there. 

Some  years  after  this,  I  had  a  little  more  friendship 
with  sea-weeds,  in  certain  boating  days,  when  we, 
merry  children,  used  to  stretch  out  our  hands  to  catch 
them  as  they  floated  by,  and  call  them  by  droll  names 
of  our  own.  Our  favourite  was  what  we  called  the 
Mermaid’s  staylace,  a  long  round  string  like  whip-cord, 
some  straight,  some  spirally  twisted,  or  as  we  used  to 
say,  these  latter  were  the  old  laces  that  the  mermaid 
had  used  and  thrown  away. 

Once  I  remember  our  trying  to  dress  an  old  stump 
of  a  wooden  doll  in  sea-weeds,  and  calling  her  a  mer¬ 
maid,  but  it  was  a  slippery  unsuccessful  business,  and 
I  don’t  think  the  ancient  blue-eyed  lady  could  have 
been  too  comfortable.  They  are  nothing  but  a  hollow 
stem,  jointed  within,  and  filled  with  air — nothing  more 
is  visible.  They  grow  to  be  thirty  or  forty  feet  long, 
and  sometimes  in  shallow  places  are  a  hindrance  to 
boats.  We  used  to  gaze  down  when  the  sun  shone 
into  the  clear  water  of  the  little  bays,  and  look  at  the 
crabs  crawling  sideways  about  among  these  strange 
weeds  and  the  stones.  I  have  since  learnt  that  sea- 
laces  is  their  real  name,  and  that  in  Shetland  they  are 
called  Luckie  Minnie’s  lines.  They  may  well  be  called 
so,  for  when  dried  and  twisted  they  are  tough  enough 
to  serve  for  fishing-lines.  Learned  books  say  they  are 
formed  by  one  long  thread  twisted  in  a  spiral,  so  as  to 
make  a  tube  of  this  immense  length.  It  is  covered 
with  hairy  fibres,  the  seeds  in  cases  growing  among 
them  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  frond. 

Sea-thongs,  like  the  laces,  only  flat,  and  not  round, 
float  about  with  them.  The  thongs,  however,  grow 
out  of  little  green  round  saucers,  which  in  some  places 


25G 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


ma}r  be  seen  covering  the  rocks,  like  green  buttons. 
The  saucers  live  two  years,  the  thongs  only  one.  The 
thongs  are  in  fact  the  blossoms,  and  bear  the  seed 
within  them,  the  round  spots  with  which  they  are 
covered  being  the  pores  through  which  the  seeds  come 
out. 

Do  you  recollect  how  Columbus  was  hindered  by  the 
multitudes  that  were  matted  together  in  the  Atlantic  ? 
and  how  the  sailors  were  frightened,  and  fancied  they 
had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  world,  which  they  thought 
like  a  great  plate,  and  that  they  should  stick  fast, 
and  never  come  home  again  ?  It  is  the  same  still,  at 
certain  seasons,  in  that  part  of  the  Atlantic ;  such 
quantities  of  sea-weed  floats  about,  that  vessels  are  in 
danger  of  getting  entangled,  and  the  surface  of  the 
ocean  looks  like  a  great  marshy  meadow,  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  reach.  It  is  a  kind  often  cast  on  our  coasts, 
with  leaf-like  fronds,  and  its  seeds  in  round  berries, 
from  which  it  is  sometimes  called  sea-grapes,  but  it 
is  better  known  as  gulf-weed.  It  is  one  of  the  green 
kinds. 

Sea-weeds  are  eaten  by  the  cattle  of  the  Hebrides, 
which  have  little  grass  to  eat,  and  go  down  to  look  for 
them  at  low-water,  keeping  the  time  of  the  tide  as 
sensibly  as  their  masters  could. 

Sea-weed  is  burnt  in  great  quantities  in  Scotland ; 
its  ashes,  called  Kelp,  are  useful  for  making  both  soap 
and  glass,  on  account  of  the  quantity  of  the  substance 
called  alkali,  or  potash,  that  they  contain. 

Laver,  a  black  shiny  weed,  found  on  rocks  in  Corn¬ 
wall  and  Devonshire,  is  stewed  with  water  and  vinegar, 
and  makes  a  very  good  relish  to  meat,  when  eaten  very 
hot.  Some  kinds  are  full  of  gluey  matter ;  one  grow¬ 
ing  in  Ireland  is  called  Carigeen  moss,  and  is  some- 


SEA-WEEDS. 


257 


times  boiled  down  into  jelly;  and  that  which  is  found 
on  the  coast  of  Java,  is  the  substance  of  which  the  swal¬ 
lows  build  the  nests  that  the  Chinese  make  into  soup. 

There  is  a  Turkey-feather  sea- weed,  which  anyone 
near  the  shore  should  look  lor,  and  may  perchance 
find,  as  it  grows  in  shallow  pools  left  by  the  tide,  in 
the  hollows  of  rocks.  I  have  never  seen  it,  but  my 
books  say  no  one  can  mistake  it ;  it  is  shaped  like  a 
fan,  or  like  the  short  broad  feathers  of  a  turkey,  and 
is  covered  with  minute  hair-like  fibres,  which  catch 
the  light,  so  that  the  frond  shines  with  rainbow  colours, 
and  deserves  its  Latin  name  of  the  peacock.  It  grows 
in  plenty  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  is  also  found  on 
our  southern  English  coasts.  Pray  search  for  it. 

The  oyster-green  is  a  large  pale-green  frond,  not 
unlike  a  bit  of  some  torn  leaf.  It  is  often  used  to 
cover  oysters,  which  is  the  reason  it  is  so  called. 

We  now  come  to  the  red  kinds,  those  beautifully 
delicate  things  that  we  see  polished  through  the 
shallow  water,  and  that  look  very  well,  even  when 
spread  out  on  paper.  They  have  no  English  names, 
unfortunately,  for  people  have  been  very  apt  to  over¬ 
look  them,  like  the  fisherman  who,  when  a  botanist 
spread  out  a  little  branched  specimen  of  clear  rosy- 
red,  which  he  had  just  found,  said,  “he  did  not  think 
there  could  be  anything  so  bonnie  to  be  got  in  the 
bay.” 

How  bonnie  they  are  you  must  learn  by  your  own 
eyes,  and  perhaps  you  may  some  day  go  further  into 
their  history ;  I  can  tell  you  very  little  about  them. 
But  I  must  not  pass  over  the  corallines,  which  stand 
on  the  borders  of  vegetable  and  mineral,  something 
between  the  two. 

Y ou  have  heard  of  the  coral  worm,  or  zoophyte,  that 

17 


258 


TIIE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD* 


extracts  from  the  sea- water  the  lime  of  which  they 
build  those  wondrous  stony  dwellings,  which  may  in 
time  become  rocks  and  islands.  For  a  long  time  it  was 
a  doubt  whether  these  red,  hard,  branching  sea-weeds, 
the  corallines,  were  vegetables,  or  the  houses  of  animals  ; 
but  at  last  they  were  clearly  proved  to  have  no  animal 
life  in  them,  and  to  be,  in  fact,  stony  vegetables.  They 
are  full  of  lime,  quite  stiff  and  hard,  and  if  held  to  a 
candle,  will  give  a  beautiful  white  light.  One  white 
coralline,  which  is  extremely  hard,  is  used  as  part  of 
the  mortar  of  the  Cathedral  of  Iona,  which  is  so  hard 
that  it  is  easier  to  break  the  stones  than  to  displace 
them.  Another  builder  uses  it — a  tiny  shell-fish,  whose 
own  house  is  too  small  for  him,  as  he  has  a  beautiful 
orange  fringework  projecting  beyond  his  shell.  To 
guard  this  soft  unprotected  part,  the  little  creature 
builds  himself  a  grotto,  of  bits  of  stone,  and  of  almost 
equally  hard  coralline,  all  bound  together  with  silk  of 
his  own  spinning,  and  softly  lined  with  the  same. 
There’s  a  wonder  of  the  deep  for  you  ! 

Conferva  is  the  name  of  the  slimy  green  hairy  weed 
found  on  stones  and  rocks  within  high-water  mark, 
spreading  out  when  the  water  comes  to  it,  and  drying 
up  and  becoming  like  a  green  crust  when  left  to  itself. 

Powerful  microscopes  discover  in  it,  what  opens  to 
us  another  field  of  our  own  ignorance.  They  find  that 
inside  the  thin  skin  that  covers  it,  there  are  an  un¬ 
told  host  of  little  grains,  or  atoms,  each  with  a  tiny 
beak,  and  that  these  are  like  live  things  dancing,  whirl¬ 
ing  round  each  other,  reeling,  twirling  backwards  and 
forwards,  and  round  and  round,  not  regularly,  but  as 
if  each  had  a  movement  at  its  own  will. 

Sometimes  they  multiply,  come  thicker  together, 
divide  into  little  parties,  and  form  a  new  membrane, 


SEA- WEEDS. 


259 


or  outside  case ;  and  this  motion  only  takes  place  at 
sun-rise.  At  other  times  of  the  day  they  are  still. 
What  are  they  ?  Are  they  analogous  to  seed  ? 

These  strange  things  are  not  found  only  in  the  sea ; 
there  are  many  sorts  named  confervas  to  be  found  in 
fresh  water,  especially  stagnant  pools,  which  they  line 
with  green.  You  have  seen  some  of  them  hundreds  of 
times,  and  know  their  disagreeable  green  shiny  look, 
hut  those  who  have  examined  them  tell  us  of  their 
beauty.  One  sort  grows  on  stones,  and  is  very  like 
toad’s-spawn.  Another  kind  is  the  oscillatoria,  long 
green  hairy  stuff,  that  oscillates  with  the  movement  of 
the  stream,  and  is  thought  really  to  have  a  motion  of 
its  own. 

And  here  again  we  stop  short ;  for  this  is  the  end  of 
the  Chapters  on  Flowers,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it,  my 
little  readers,  for  they  have  been  a  great  pleasure  to 
me.  They  have  taught  me  much  that  was  new,  and 
made  me  look  deeper  into  books  to  clear  my  notions, 
and  certify  what  I  knew  before ;  they  have  set  me 
watching,  more  than  I  did  before,  the  lovely  things  in 
nature ;  they  have  turned  my  mind  back  to  many 
precious  recollections  of  happy  hours  and  friends  of  old 
days ;  and  I  hope  that  thinking  about  all  these  has 
helped  me,  as  I  trust  it  may  help  some  of  you,  to  think 
more  about  the  Power  and  Goodness  that  made  the 
“field  joyful,  and  all  that  is  in  it;  planted  trees  for  a 
dwelling  for  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  prepared  grass  for 
the  cattle,  green  herb  for  the  service  of  man,  wine  that 
maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man,  and  bread  to  strengthen 
man’s  heart.” 

All  study  of  nature  must  turn  to  His  honour  and 
glory,  if  only  used  right.  Perhaps  some  day  you  will 
learn  far  more  than  I  can  teach  you,  some,  it  may  be 


260 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


from  books,  but  all  can  and  may,  from  a  humble,  obe¬ 
dient,  adoring  heart  and  eye,  that  turns  from  God’s 
works  to  God  Himself.  That  love  is  true  wisdom, 
and  the  flowers  of  the  field  are  precious  to  us,  as  help¬ 
ing  us  to  reach  up  to  it. 

“  What,  though  I  trace  each  herb  and  flower 
That  drinks  the  morning’s  dew, 

Did  I  not  own  Jehovah’s  Power, 

How  vain  were  all  I  knew !” 


261 


COMMON  ENGLISH  PLANTS, 

ARRANGED  BY  TIIEIR  CLASSES. 


CLASS  I. — 1  STAMEN. — Monandria. 

Glass-wort,  Chap.  XIII.  95. 

Mare’s-tail,  Chap.  XIII.  95. 


CLASS  II.— 2  STAMEN S. — Diandria. 

Order  1. — 1  pistil . — Monogynia. 

Privet,  Chap.  XIII.  100. 

Ash,  Chap.  XIII.  101. 

Enchanters’  Nightshade,  Chap.  XIII.  101. 

Speedwell,  or  Veronica,  Chap.  XIII.  101. 

Butter-wort,  Chap.  XIII.  101. 

Bladder-wort — a  yellow  flower,  with  a  long  spur,  its 
leaves  have  small  vessels,  which  fill  with  air  like 
bladders,  and  float  the  blossom  to  the  surface  of  the 
water,  till  the  seed  is  ready  to  be  ripened  under  water. 

Gipsy- wort,  Chap.  XIII.  101. 

Sage,  Chap.  XIII.  101. 

Duckweed,  Chap.  XIII.  102. 

Vervain,  or  Verbena,  Chap.  XIII.  100. 


262 


TIIE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


CLASS  III.— 3  STAMENS. — Triandria. 

Order  1. — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 

Valerian — corolla,  of  one  petal,  divided  into  five;  a 
spur  at  the  bottom,  long  filaments  growing  on  it. 

Three  kinds  are  common,  all  have  many  blossoms  in 
one  head. 

Red  valerian  is  a  handsome  bright  red  flower,  often 
found  on  old  walls  and  rocks. 

Great  wild  valerian  is  of  a  pale  flesh-colour,  and  grows 
near  rivers ;  it  has  a  woody  stem,  three  or  four  feet 
high,  and  deeply  serrated  leaves.  Cats  are  very  fond 
of  its  smell,  and  will  roll  upon  it  in  delight. 

Small  valerian — a  little  plant,  its  stem  unbranclied,  and 
its  blossoms  a  pale  blush  colour,  growing  in  wet 
meadows.  All  three  kinds  flower  rather  late  in 
summer. 

Corn  Salad,  or  Lamb’s  lettuce — a  very  small  plant, 
growing  close  to  the  ground  in  stubble,  under  corn, 
or  in  fallow-land.  The  stem  is  very  much  forked, 
the  leaves  without  footstalks,  the  root  fibrous,  the 
blossoms  of  one  petal,  in  five  divisions,  and  of  a  pale 
grey  or  blue  colour,  about  the  size  of  those  of  shep¬ 
herd’s  purse. 

Crocus,  Chap.  I.  4. 

Iris,  or  Flag,  Chap.  XIV.  104. 

Cotton-grass,  Chap.  XIV.  111. 

Order  2. — 2  pistils. — Digynia. 

Grass,  Chap.  XIV.  107. 

Order  3. — 3  pistils. — Trigynia. 

Water-duckweed — a  little  white  flower,  growing  near 
pools  and  streams,  in  thick  tufts. 

All-seed — a  little  creeper  on  neglected  ground,  the 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


263 


stems  much  branched,  lying  flat  on  the  ground,  the 
leaves  in  stars  of  four  together,  the  blossoms  greenish 
white. 


CLASS  IV.— 4  STAMENS. — Tetrandria 


Order  1. — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 


Teazel,  Chap.  XV.  115. 

Scabious,  Chap.  XV.  113. 

Field  madder — small  and  grey,  much  like  lamb's-lettuee, 
but  it  may  be  known  from  it  by  having  four  stamens, 
four  divisions  of  the  corolla,  its  leaves  in  whorls  of  six. 
Wood-ruff, 


Cross-wort, 
Ladies’-bed-straw, 
Gliders,  or  goose-grass, 


Plantain,  Chap.  XV.  117. 

Burnet,  Chap.  XV.  118. 

Cornel  or  dogwood,  a  bush  often  seen  by  road-sides, 
with  white  flowers  in  cymes,  like  small  heads  of  elder, 
the  fruit  a  purple  berry,  the  branches  red. 
Ladies’-mantle,  Chap.  XV.  121. 


Order  4. — 4  pistils. — Tetragynia. 


Holly,  Chap.  XI.  80. 

Pond- weed — green  leaves,  floating  on  the  water,  and 
spikes  rather  like  plantain,  only  greener,  found  in 
ponds  and  rivers. 

Radiola — a  tiny  plant  growing  on  gravelly  heathy 
soil,  its  blossoms  white. 


CLASS  V.— 5  STAMEN S. — Pentandria. 


Order  1. — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 

Forget-me-not,  _  U„  rv 


264 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Gromwell — a  pentagon  flower,  the  seeds  four,  and 
particularly  hard  and  polished,  the  blossoms  small, 
growing  on  a  branched  stem,  the  leaves  sharpened, 
and  with  short  foot-stalks.  There  are  four  English 
kinds  :  the  common  gromwell,  a  pale  buff  colour ;  the 
corn  gromwell,  quite  white ;  the  purple,  a  deep  blue, 
but  not  common  ;  the  sea  gromwell,  beautiful  blue, 
and  a  large  handsome  flower,  growing  on  the  sea 
shore. 

Anchusa,  Chap.  XYI.  123. 

Houndstongue,  Chap.  XYI.  123. 

Lung- wort,  Chap.  XYI.  123. 

Comfrey,  Chap.  XYI.  123. 

Borage,  Chap.  XYI.  123. 

Catch-weed — a  veiy  well-named  plant,  it  is  all  over 
little  white  hooks  that  give  it  a  hoary  appearance, 
and  cling  to  whatever  touches  it.  It  grows  in  waste 
ground,  and  has  a  pale  little  insignificant  blue  pen¬ 
tagon  flower. 

Bugloss — a  rough  bristly  plant,  with  a  blue  flower, 
growing  in  sandy  places. 

Yiper’s-bugloss,  Chap.  XYI.  121. 

Primrose,  "4 

Cowslip,  >Chap.  IY.  19. 

Oxlip,  J 

Bogbean,  Chap.  IY.  24. 

Featherfoil,  or  water- violet.  You  will  be  lucky  if  you 
find  it.  It  has  a  tall  spike  of  primrose-shaped  lilac 
flowers,  and  feathery  leaves,  growing  in  the  water. 

Yellow  Loose-strife, 


Money-wort, 
Yellow  Pimpernel, 


Pimpernel,  Chap.  XYI.  129. 
Bindweed,  Chap.  XYI.  132. 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


265 


Canterbury-bells, 


Bell-flowers, 

Venus’s  looking-glass,  y  Chap.  VII.  45. 

Harebell, 

Campanula, 

Sheep’s-bit — a  blue  flower,  rather  like  a  scabious  in 
general  appearance,  growing  on  heaths. 
Touch-me-not,  Chap.  XVII.  136. 

Violet, 


Dog-violet, 


Heart’s-ease,  ) 

Mullein,  Chap.  XVI.  130. 

Henbane,  Chap.  XVI.  123. 
Nightshade,  Chap.  XVI.  125. 

Deadly  Nightshade,  Chap.  XVI.  124. 
Centaury,  Chap.  XVII.  134. 
Honeysuckle,  Chap.  XVI.  134. 
Spindle  tree,  Chap.  XI.  84. 


}  Chap.  XVH.  137. 


Ivy,  Chap.  XI.  84,  136. 
Periwinkle,  Chap.  IV.  22. 


Order  2. — 2  pistils. — Digynia. 


Goosefoot,  ) 

Good  King  Henry,  )  1 

Elm,  Chap.  XVIII.  144. 


|  Chap.  XIX.  156. 


Dodder,  Chap.  XVII.  133. 
Gentian,  Chap.  XVII.  134. 
Sanicle,  Chap.  XIX.  154. 
Carrot,  Chap.  XIX.  152. 
Earth-nut,  Chap.  XIX.  152. 
Hog-weed,  Chap.  XIX.  153. 
Cow  parsley,  Chap.  XIX.  153. 


266 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Sea  Holly — a  curious  pale  sea-green  plant,  covered 
with  a  white  bloom,  the  leaves  opposite,  with  a 
prickly  stiff  border,  much  like  holly  leaves,  and  a 
blue  blossom,  in  heads  like  small  teazels. 

Hemlock,  Chap.  XIX.  153. 

Gout-weed,  Chap.  XIX.  153. 

Angelica,  Chap.  XIX.  152. 

Samphire,  an  umbelliferous  plant,  growing  by  the  sea¬ 
side,  often  made  into  a  pickle. 

Order  3. — 3  pistils. — Trigynia. 

Guelder  rose,  Chap.  XIX.  155. 

Elder,  Chap.  XIX.  154. 

Order  4. — 4  pistils. — Tetragynia. 

Grass  of  Parnassus — a  handsome  white  flower,  growing 
in  boggy  places  on  mountains. 

Thrift,  Chap.  XIX.  157. 

Flax,  Chap.  XIX.  157. 

Order  5. — 5  pistils. — Pcntagynia. 

Sundew,  Chap.  XIX.  157. 


CLASS  VI.— 6  STAMENS. — Ilexandria. 

Order  1. — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 

Snow-drop,  Chap.  I.  2. 

Daffodil,  Chap.  II.  6. — a  white  flower  in  a  sheath. 

Garlick,  Chap.  XX.  164. 

Wild  Onion — a  curious  plant,  like  a  little  onion,  heads 
growing  at  the  top  of  a  stalk,  at  first  enclosed  in  a 
sheath,  and  when  this  bursts,  coming  out  in  flowers 
and  little  bulbs,  which  plant  themselves. 

Fritillary,  Chap.  XX.  160. 

Star  of  Bethlehem,  Chap.  XX.  162. 


Blue-bell,  ) 

Hyacinth,  f  ChaP'  XX‘  1C2' 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


207 


Asphodel,  Chap.  XX.  166. 

Asparagus,  Chap.  XX.  165. 

Lily  of  the  valley,  Chap.  XX.  165. 

Solomon’s  seal,  Chap.  XX.  164. 

Rush,  Chap.  XX.  166. 

Wood-rush,  Chap.  XX.  167. 

Barberry,  Chap.  XX.  165. 

Order  3. — 3  pistils. — Trigynia. 

Dock,  Chap.  XX.  168. 

Order  5. — Many  pistils. — Polygnia. 

Water-plantain,  Chap.  XX.  166. 

CLASS  VII.— 7  STAMENS. 
Chickweed  winter  green,  Chap.  XXI.  161). 

CLASS  VIII.— 8  STAMENS. — Octandria. 
Order  1. — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 

Chap.  XII.  47. 

Wortleberry,  Chap.  XXI.  172. 

Ling,  Chap.  XII.  46. 

Heath,  Chap.  XII.  46. 

Maple,  Chap.  XXI.  175. 

Order  3. — 3  pistils. — Trigynia. 

Buck-wheat,  j  chap  XXj.  175. 

Persicaria,  ) 

Order  4. — 4  pistils. — Tetragynia. 

Herb  Paris,  Chap.  XXL  175. 

Adoxa,  Chap.  XXL  175. 

CLASS  IX.— 9  STAMEN S. — Enneandria. 
Flowering  rush,  Chap.  XXI.  175. 


Willow-herb, 
Codlings  and  Cream, 


268 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


CLASS  X.— 10  STAMEN S. — Decandria. 

Order  1. — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 

Yellow  bird’s-nest — a  yellow,  scaly,  leafless  plant,  grow¬ 
ing  on  stumps  of  trees,  a  great  curiosity. 

Arbutus,  Chap.  XXI.  176. 

Order  2. — 2  pistils. — Digynia. 


Saxifrage,  Chap.  XXI.  176. 
Soap- wort,  Chap.  XXI.  176. 
Pink,  Chap.  XXI.  177. 


Order  3.-3  pistils. — Trigynia. 


Sand-wort,  Chap.  XXI.  177. 

Order  5. — 5  pistils. — Pentcigynia. 
Penny-wort,  Chap.  XXI.  178. 
Stone-crop,  Chap.  XXI.  178. 
Wood-sorrel,  Chap.  XXI.  178. 
Corn-cockle,  Chap.  XXI.  178. 

Lychnis,  I 

Rose-campion,  VCliap.  XXI.  177. 


Ragged-robin, 


CLASS  XI.— 4  STAMENS  TO  20 .—Dodecandria. 
Order  1 . — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 

Purple  Loose-strife,  Chap.  XXI.  178. 

Order  2. — 2  pistils. — Digynia. 
Agrimony,  Chap.  XXI.  178. 

Order  3. — 3  pistils. — Trigynia. 


Wild  Mignionette, 
W  oad, 


|  Chap.  XXL  179. 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


269 


Order  4. — 4  pistils. — Tetragynia. 


House-leek,  Chap.  XXI.  179. 


CLASS  XII.— MANY  STAMENS  GROWING  ON  THE 
CALYX. — Icosandrici. 


Order  1. —  1  pistil. — Monogynia. 


Cherry, 

Black-thorn, 

Plum, 


I  Chap.  V.  28 — all  these  have  one  pistil, 
(  as  their  single  stone  proves. 


Order  5. — 5  pistils. — Pentagynia. 


Medlar, 

Hawthorn, 


I  Chap.  V.  27. 


Apple,  )  Ch  y  2g_ 
Pear,  ) 


Mountain  Ash,  Chap.  XXII.  184. 
Meadow-sweet,  Chap.  XXII.  184. 


Order  6. — Many  pistils. — Hexagynia. 


riar,  >Chap. 

) 


Rose, 

Sweet-briar 
Dog-rose 
Strawberry,  Chap.  Y.  35. 
Raspberry,  j  Ch  y  35> 
Bramble,  I 


Y.  31. 


Cinquefoil — pretty  strawberry-shaped  yellow  flowers, 
of  which  there  are  many  kinds.  The  commonest  is 
the  silver-weed,  or  goose-grass,  which  grows  in  dry 
places,  by  dusty  way-sides.  Its  leaves  are  feather¬ 
shaped,  and  white  outside,  which  gives  the  plant  a 
silvery  look. 


270 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Torrnentil — also  yellow,  but  with  four  petals.  It  is  a 
pretty  little  smiling  plant,  the  last  of  the  little  yellow 
hedge-creepers  to  hide  its  cheerful  face.  I  have  often 
seen  it  blowing  in  the  winter. 

Geum — an  odd  reddish  bell,  found  near  the  water  side, 
the  pale  red  petals  holding  a  perfect  bush  of  greenish 
styles. 


CLASS  XIII. — MANY  STAMENS  GROWING  ON  THE 
RECEPTACLE. — Polyandria. 

Order  1. — 1  pistil. — Monogynia. 

Celandine — a  yellow  flower,  the  petals  adhering  so 
loosely  it  is  hardly  possible  to  gather  it  without  their 
flying  away  ;  the  germ  long,  growing  into  a  pod  ;  the 
leaves  grey  and  pinnate.  It  blossoms  all  the  sum¬ 
mer,  and  looks  like  a  hedge  butter-cup,  without  its 
polish. 

Horn-poppies,  Chap.  XXII.  186. 

Poppy,  Chap.  XXII.  185. 

Water  Lily,  Chap.  XXII.  186. 

Lime,  Chap.  XXII.  187. 

Order  5. —  5  pistils. — Digynia. 

Peony,  Chap.  XXII.  187. 

Larkspur,  Chap.  XXII.  187. 

Monk’s-hood,  Chap.  XXII.  187. 

Columbine,  Chap.  XXII.  188. 

Order  G. — Many  pistils. — Pofygynia. 

Anemone,  Chap.  HI.  13. 

Clematis,  Chap.  XXII.  189. 

Meadow-rue,  Chap.  XXII.  188. 

Pheasant’s-eye,  Chap.  XXII.  186. 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


271 


Pile- wort,  Chap.  III.  1G. 
Crow-foot,  j  Ch  IIL  x 
Butter- cup,  > 

Marsh  Marigold,  Chap.  III. 


o. 

17. 


CLASS  XIV.— TWO  LONG  AND  TWO  SHORT 
STAMENS. — Didynamia. 

LABIATE  FLOWERS. 

Order  1. — 4  naked  seeds. —  Gymnospermia. 

Bugle — a  dingy  blue  flower,  growing  in  whorls  on  a 
short  simple  stem,  which,  as  well  as  the  leaves,  is 
tinged  with  red.  It  grows  in  quantities  in  dry  woods 
in  July. 

Germander — also  called  wood-sage,  its  leaf  is  very  like 
sage,  and  grows  in  pairs  on  each  side  of  a  square 
stem,  ending  in  a  spike  of  pale  greenish  yellow 
flowers.  It  is  to  be  found  in  woods  and  hedgerows 

CD 

late  in  the  year. 

Cat-mint — a  soft  downy  plant,  the  blossoms  white,  ex¬ 
cept  the  lower  lip,  which  is  spotted  with  red.  Cats 
are  as  fond  of  it  as  of  valerian. 

Mint — grey  blossoms,  growing  in  thick  clusters,  sepa¬ 
rated  by  pairs  of  greyish  leaves,  smelling  strongly. 

Ground-ivy,  or  all-heal,  Chap.  VII. 

Archangel,  or  dead-nettle,  Chap.  VII. 

Wound- wort — a  tall  plant,  with  nettle-shaped  leaves 
growing  in  pairs,  the  blossoms  in  whorls  on  a  spike, 
dark  purple,  or  crimson  ;  and  if  you  study  them 
closely,  you  will  see  they  are  prettily-veined  with 
white. 

Hemp-nettle — a  rarer  sort,  is  sometimes  found  in  corn- 


272 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


fields ;  tlie  corolla  yellow,  and  the  lip  marked  with 
purple. 

Weasel-snout,  or  yellow  dead-nettle — a  plant  every 
one  knows. 

Betony — a  bright  red  purple  flower,  in  a  spike,  on  a 
simple  stem,  the  leaves  serrated,  each  on  a  stem  from 
the  root.  It  grows  in  woods. 

Marjoram,  Chap.  VII.  51. 


Thyme, 

Basil-thyme, 


Melittis — a  beautiful  large  flower,  shaped  much  like 
the  dead-nettle,  white,  with  a  large  purple  spot  on 


its  lip. 


Skull-cap,  Chap.  VII.  51. 
Self-heal,  Chap.  VII.  52. 


Order  2. — Seeds  enclosed  in  a  capsule. — Angiospermia. 

Bartsia — a  small  low  reddish  plant  with  dingy  purple 
flowers,  growing  in  dry  rubbish. 

Yellow-rattle — a  yellow  flower,  on  a  swelling  calyx, 
growing  in  meadows,  called  rattle,  because  the  seeds 
when  ripe  rattle  in  their  vessel. 

Yellow-cow-wlieat — much  like  the  rattle,  but  it  grows 
in  woods,  the  calyx  is  not  so  swelling,  the  leaves  are 
linear,  and  it  has  curiously  pinnate  bracts,  the  stems 
are  black  and  wiry. 

Eye-bright — is  a  little  beauty,  growing  close  to  the 
ground  in  pastures  ;  the  blossom  white,  marked  with 
brown  and  yellow,  prettily  cut  at  the  edge. 

Red-rattle — two  kinds,  large  and  small,  the  latter 
grows  close  to  the  ground,  the  former  has  a  branching 
stem  ;  both  have  notched  leaves,  and  large  handsome 
pink  blossoms.  They  grow  in  marshes. 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


273 


Toadflax,  Chap.  VII.  51. 

Snapdragon,  Chap.  VII.  50. 

Fig  wort — a  tall,  bushy  plant,  the  stem  hollow,  and 
very  square  ;  the  blossoms  dingy  red,  looking  rather 
as  if  they  had  been  eaten  off  by  insects. 

Foxglove,  Chap.  VII.  49. 

Broom-rape — a  marvellous  brown  thing,  that  looks  as 
if*  it  never  lived;  blossoms,  leaves,  root,  and  all,  of 
one  pale  brown ;  nothing  flower-like  about  it  but  its 
yellow  anthers,  within  their  brown  cave.  The  leaves 
are  linear  and  brown,  and  the  root  is  a  most  curious 
succession  of  scales.  It  fastens  itself  on  the  roots  of 
broom  and  furze,  and  sucks  their  juices,  instead  of 
going  direct  to  the  earth  itself.  You  may  see  its 
brown  spikes  on  heaths  and  commons  in  June  and 
July,  and  it  is  well  worth  examining. 


CLASS  XV.— TWO  SHORT  AND  FOUR  LONG 


STAMEN  S. — Tetradynamia. 


CRUCIFORM  FLOWERS. 


Order  1. — Seeds  in  a  capsule. — Siliculosa. 


Mithridate  Mustard — a  small  white  flower,  growing  in 
clusters  on  the  borders  of  fields. 


Shepherd’s  purse, 
Treacle  mustard, 


Order  2. — Seeds  in  a  long  pod. — Siliquosa. 


Cardamine,  or  lady’s-smock,  Chap.  XXIII.  194. 
Water-cress,  Chap.  XXI.  194. 

Stock,  Chap.  XXL  190. 

Wall-flower,  Chap.  XXI.  191. 


18 


274 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Jack-by-the -hedge,  Chap.  XXI.  194. 

Cabbage,  Chap.  XXI. 

Mustard,  Chap.  XXI.  193. 

Radish,  Chap.  XXI.  193. 

Charlock — a  yellow  blossom  that  no  one  wishes  for  in 
their  fields. 


CLASS  XVI.— STAMENS  IN  ONE  BROTHERHOOD.— 

Monadelphia. 

Crane’s-bill,  Chap.  XXIY.  198. 

Mallow,  Chap.  XXIV.  201. 


CLASS  XVII.— STAMENS  IN  TWO  BROTHERHOODS.— 

Diadelphia. 

BUTTERFLY  FLOWERS. 

Order  I. — 6  stamens. — Hexandria. 

F umitory — the  only  plant  of  the  class  that  is  not 
properly  a  butterfly  flower.  It  has  two  parcels  of 
stamens,  each  bearing  three  anthers.  It  is  a  com¬ 
mon  weed  in  gardens,  the  leaves  of  a  pale  sea-green, 
much  pinnate,  and  the  blossoms  of  a  pale  red,  tipped 
with  a  much  darker  colour,  all  smoky-looking,  which 
is  the  reason  of  its  name  of  fumitory,  from  fumus, 
smoke. 

Order  2. — 8  stamens. — Octandria. 

Milkwort,  Chap.  VI.  41. 

Order  3. — 10  stamens. — Decandria. 

Broom,  Chap.  VI.  40. 

Furze,  or  Gorse,  Chap.  VI.  40. 

Rest-harrow — an  enemy  to  farmers,  as  it  has  a  tough, 
spreading,  woody  root,  that  runs  over  neglected  fields, 
and  does  arrest  the  harrow  and  plough.  The  stem, 
too,  is  tough  and  woody,  very  hard  to  break,  as  those 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


275 


know  who  have  tried  to  adorn  an  autumn  nosegay, 
with  its  very  pretty  blossoms,  the  standard  blush- 
colour,  the  wings  deep  rose-colour.  They  are  about 
the  size  of  furze  blossom,  and  the  leaves  are  pale 
green. 


Vetch, 


Vetchling, 
Wild  pea, 
Milk  vetch, 


there  are  many  sorts,  but  you  must  be  a 
>  better  botanist  than  this  book  will  make 
you,  to  know  them  apart. 

Tare,  Chap.  VI.  41.  Observe  that  this  tiny  little  grey 
flower  is  not  thought  to  be  the  tare  of  Scripture. 
That  is  believed  to  be  a  kind  of  grass  like  darnel, 
like  wheat,  but  perfectly  useless. 

Bird’s-foot — one  of  the  smallest  flowers  to  be  found, 
growing  on  heaths,  close  to  the  ground,  the  leaves 
like  tiny  saintfoin,  the  blossoms  white,  streaked  with 


rose-colour. 

Saintfoin,  Chap.  VI.  42. 

Chap.  VI.  42. 
Bird’s-foot  Trefoil,  Chap.  VI.  41. 


Trefoil,  j 
Clover,  » 


CLASS  XVIII.— MANY  BROTHERHOODS  OF 
STAMENS. — Polyadelphia. 

St.  John’s  Wort,  Chap.  XXYL  208. 


CLASS  XIX.— COMPOUND  FLOWERS. — Syngenesia. 
Order  1. — All  the  florets  perfect . — JEqualis. 

Dandelion,  Chap.  VIII.  GO. 

Oxtongue — a  flower  like  a  dandelion,  the  stem  tall, 
branched,  and  prickly,  the  leaves  embracing  it,  and 
their  edge  and  surface  roughened  with  prickles, 


276 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


much  like  the  tongue  of  an  ox,  the  calyx  very  prettily 


folded. 


Sow-thistle — dandelion-like,  soft  and  juicy,  its  stem 
branched,  an  ox-tongue  all  but  the  prickles,  of  which 
it  has  only  a  few  at  the  edge  of  the  leaves,  which 
have  often  a  very  pretty  pink  mid  rib. 

Lettuce — very  small  dandelion  flowers,  and  leaves  that 
everyone  knows. 

Hawkweed — dandelion-like,  but  of  a  pretty  pale  sul¬ 
phur  colour,  and  the  stem  quite  dry,  without  the 
succulent  juice  of  the  others.  The  stems  are  simple, 
it  grows  in  dry  places,  and  the  “  clocks”  are  particu¬ 
larly  beautiful,  each  seed  bearing  such  a  perfect  star. 

Lapsana — tiny  dandelions  on  tall  stems. 

Wild  succory — like  garden  succory,  with  a  pretty  blue 
flower. 

Burdock,  Chap.  VIII.  60. 

Saw-wort — a  purple  flower  like  a  thistle,  but  with 
fewer  prickles,  and  those  chiefly  at  the  edges  of  the 
leaves — whence  its  name. 

Thistle,  Chap.  VIII.  59. 

Bur  Marigold,  or  Goldilocks — a  yellow  flower  with  a 
somewhat  drooping  head,  and  long  lance-shaped 
leaves,  growing  in  marshy  places. 

Order  2. —  Outer  florets  having  pistils  alone ,  inner  florets  perfect. — 


Superflua. 


Tansy — yellow  star-like  flowers. 

Wormwood — grey  pale  downy  oft-divided  leaves,  light 


yellow  flowers. 

Cudweed,  Chap.  VIII.  58. 


Flea-bane,  Chap.  VIII.  57. 


Elecampane — a  fine  large  yellow  blossom  like  a  sun¬ 


flower. 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


277 


Golden  Rod,  Chap.  VIII.  57. 

Sea-aster — a  grey  flower,  like  a  Michaelmas  daisy, 
growing  in  sea-mud. 

Daisy,  Chap.  VIII.  55. 

Ox-eye,  Chap.  VIII.  56. 

Corn-Chrysanthemum,  Chap.  VIII.  57. 

Camomile,  Chap.  VIII.  57. 

Yarrow,  or  Milfoil-heads  of  white  flowers,  so  small 
that  at  first  sight  it  might  almost  be  taken  for  an 
umbellate  flower,  now  and  then  a  little  tinged  with 
pink.  It  is  the  leaf  that  is  its  peculiar  beauty,  one 
long  mid  rib,  feathered  twice  in  two  divisions  of  long 
pointed  segments,  each  bearing  almost  a  thousand 
little  leaves  in  one,  from  which  its  name  milfoil — 
1000  leaves. 


Order  3. —  Outer  florets  empty. — Frustranea. 


Knap -weed, 
Corn-flower, 


Chap.  VIII.  61. 


CLASS  XX.— STAMENS  ON  THE  PISTIL. —  Gynandria. 

(orchises.) 

Orchis,  Chap.  XXVII.  214. 

Tway-blade,  Chap.  XXVII.  217. 

Ophrys,  Chap.  XXVII.  218. 

Ladies’-tresses,  Chap.  XXVII.  217. 

Helleborine,  Chap.  XXVII.  118. 


CLASS  XXI.— STAMENS  AND  PISTILS  IN  DIFFERENT 
FLOWERS  ON  THE  SAME  PLANT. — Moncecia. 

Spurge,  Chap.  XXVIII.  222. 

Bulrush,  Chap.  XXVIII.  224. 

Sedge,  Chap.  XXVIII.  226. 


278 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Bur-reed,  Chap.  XXVIII.  225. 

Alder,  Chap.  XXVIII.  227. 

Box,  Chap.  XXVIII.  229. 

Nettle,  Chap.  XXVIII.  227. 

White  Bryony,  Chap.  XXVIII.  228. 

Arrow-head,  Chap.  XXVIII.  229. 

Arum,  Chap.  XXVIII.  229. 

Oak,  Chap.  XXVIII.  230. 

Chestnut — it  has  thick  green  catkins,  and  is  a  hand¬ 
some  tree,  Chap.  XXVIII.  230. 

Beech — a  catkined  tree,  bearing  nuts  called  beech- 
masts.  The  leaves  small,  the  bark  smooth,  Chap. 
XXVIII.  230. 

Birch,  Chap.  XXIX.  238. 

Hazel,  Chap.  II.  9. 

Pine,  Chap.  XII.  90. 


CLASS  XXII.— STAMENS  AND  PISTILS  ON  DIF¬ 
FERENT  PLANTS. — Dicecici. 

Willow,  Chap.  XXIX.  235. 

Butcher’s-broom,  Chap.  XXIX.  87. 

Mistletoe,  Chap.  XXIX.  83. 

Hop,  Chap.  XXIX.  238. 

Black  Bryony,  Chap.  XXIX.  239. 

Poplar,  Chap.  XXIX.  237. 

Hogs’  Mercury,  Chap.  XXIX.  240. 

Frog-bit,  Chap.  XXIX.  240. 

Juniper,  Chap.  XXIX.  242. 

Yew,  Chap.  XXIX.  240. 


CLASS  XXIII.— FLOWERS  SOMETIMES  PERFECT, 
SOMETIMES  WITH  THEIR  PARTS  SEPARATE.— 

Polygamia . 

Pellitory,  Chap.  XXIX.  245. 

Orache,  Chap.  XXIX.  245. 


PLANTS  ARRANGED  BY  CLASSES. 


CLASS  XXMf.—Cryptogamia. 


UNSEEN  BLOSSOMS. 


Order  1. — Ferns. 


Hart’s-tongue, 

Scaly  hart’s-tongue, 


|  Clmp.  X.  70. 


Royal  Osmond,  or  Flowering-fern,  Chap.  X. 
Polypody,  Chap.  X.  72. 

Black  maiden-hair,  Chap.  X.  72. 

Spleen  wort,  Chap.  X.  72. 

Lady-fern,  Chap.  X.  73. 

Shield-fern,  Chap.  X.  73. 

Brake,  Chap.  X.  74. 

Blechnum,  Chap.  X.  75. 

Adder’s-tongue,  Chap.  X.  76. 

Mountain  parsley,  Chap.  X.  76. 

Order  2. — Mosses. 

Hypnum,  Chap.  IX.  68. 


Swan’s-neck,  3 

Order  3. —  Club  Moss. 
Fox-tail,  Chap.  IX.  69. 


Order  4. — Horsetail. 


Horstail,  Chap.  XXX.  246. 


Order  5. — Lichen. 


Liverwort,  Chap.  IX.  66. 
Lungwort,  Chap.  IX.  66. 
Rein-deer  moss,  Chap.  IX.  66. 
Cup-lichen,  Chap.  IX.  66. 
Tripe-de-roclie,  Chap.  IX.  66. 


280 


THE  HERB  OF  THE  FIELD. 


Order  6. — Fungus. 


Mushroom, 

Chanterelle, 
Ovate-toadstool, 
Oyster-toadstool, 

V  elvet-stalked, 

Orange, 

Boletus,  Chap.  XXX.  250. 
Morel,  Chap.  XXX.  248 
Puff-ball, 

Truffle, 


V  Chap.  XXX.  250. 


|  Chap. 


XXX.  251. 


Peziza,  or  fairy-bath,  Chap.  XXX.  252. 
St.  Grundula’s  Lamp,  Chap.  XXX.  252. 
Dry-rot,  Chap.  XXX.  252. 

Mildew,  Chap.  XXX.  252. 

Blue-mould,  Chap.  XXX.  252. 


Order  7. — Sea-weed. 

Sea-tangle,  Chap.  XXXI.  253. 

Swine-tangle,  Chap.  XXXI.  254. 

Sea-thongs,  Chap.  XXXI.  258. 

Sea-laces,  Chap.  XXXI.  255. 

Sea-grapes,  or  Gulf-weed,  Chap.  XXXI.  256. 
Turkey-feather,  Chap.  XXXI.  257. 
Oyster-green,  Chap.  XXXI.  257. 

Carrigeen,  Chap.  XXXI.  256. 

Coralline,  Chap.  XXXI.  257. 

Conferva,  Chap.  XXXI.  258. 

Toad-spawn,  Chap.  XXXI.  259. 

Oscillatoria,  Chap.  XXXI.  259. 


281 


INDEX. 


Page 

Page 

Adder’s  tongue 

- 

76 

Azalia 

- 

173 

Adoxa 

-  175 

Bachelor’s  buttons 

-  16 

Agaricus 

- 

250 

Balsam 

- 

135 

Agrimony  - 

-  178 

Bamboo 

-  112 

Alder  - 

- 

227 

Banyan 

- 

245 

Alkanet 

-  123 

Banksia  rose 

-  33 

Almond 

- 

183 

Barberry 

- 

165 

Althea 

-  201 

Barley 

-  110 

All  seed 

- 

262 

Bartsia 

- 

272 

Amaranth  - 

58,  228 

Basil 

-  51 

Amei'ican  cowslip 

- 

125 

Basil-thyme 

- 

52 

American  groundsel 

-  58 

Bay 

-  175 

Anagallis 

- 

130 

Bean  - 

- 

39 

Anchusa  - 

-  123 

Bedstraw  - 

-  120 

Anemone 

. 

13 

Beech  - 

- 

230 

Angelica  - 

-  152 

Bee  larkspur 

-  187 

Apple 

- 

28 

Bee  orchis 

- 

219 

Apricot 

-  30 

Beet 

-  156 

Aquilegia 

- 

188 

Belladonna  lily 

- 

161 

Araucaria  - 

-  90 

Bell  flowers 

-  45 

Arbutus 

- 

176 

Betony 

- 

272 

Archangel 

-  52 

Bindweed 

-  132 

Arrow-head 

- 

239 

Birch  - 

- 

238 

Artichoke 

-  53 

Birdsfoot  - 

-  275 

Arum  - 

- 

229 

Birdsfoot  trefoil 

- 

41 

Ash 

-  101 

Birds’-eye  primula 

-  21 

Asparagus 

- 

165 

Bird’s-nest 

- 

267 

Aspen 

-  238 

Bird’s-nest  orchis 

-  217 

Asphodel 

- 

166 

Blackberry 

- 

34 

Atropa 

-  124 

Black  bryony 

-  239 

Auricula 

m 

22 

Black-eyed  Susan 

- 

201 

Austrian  briar 

-  32 

Black  maiden  hair 

-  72 

282 

INDEX. 

Page 

Page 

Bladder  campion 

- 

177 

Canterbury  bells 

- 

45 

Bladder  wort 

- 

2G1 

Caraway  - 

- 

- 

152 

Blechnum 

- 

75 

Cardamine 

- 

- 

194 

Bloody  warrior  % 

- 

191 

Carigeen  - 

- 

- 

256 

Blue  bells 

- 

162 

Carnation 

- 

- 

177 

Blue  bells  of  Scotland 

- 

45 

Carrot 

- 

- 

152 

Bog  bean 

- 

24 

Catchfly 

- 

- 

177 

Bog  pimpernel 

- 

130 

Catmint 

- 

- 

271 

Boletus 

- 

250 

Catstail 

- 

- 

224 

Borage 

- 

123 

Cauliflower 

- 

- 

192 

Bottle  gourd  - 

- 

231 

Cedar  - 

- 

- 

93 

Box 

- 

227 

Celandine  - 

- 

- 

270 

Bracken 

- 

74 

Celery  - 

- 

- 

152 

Bramble  - 

- 

34 

Centaury  - 

- 

- 

134 

Bread-fruit 

- 

221 

Cerealia 

- 

- 

no 

Broccoli 

- 

192 

Chandelier  hemlock 

- 

153 

Brome  grass  - 

- 

111 

Chanterelle 

- 

- 

250 

Brook  lime 

- 

101 

Charlock  - 

- 

- 

274 

Broom 

- 

40 

Cherry 

- 

- 

30 

Broom  rape 

- 

273 

Chestnut  - 

- 

- 

278 

Bryony 

- 

228 

Chickweed 

- 

- 

177 

Bryum 

- 

68 

China  rose 

- 

- 

34 

Buck  wheat 

- 

175 

Chinese  primrose 

- 

22 

Budlea 

- 

119 

Chrysanthemum 

- 

- 

57 

Bugle  - 

- 

271 

Cinnamon 

- 

- 

176 

Bulrush 

- 

224 

Cinquefoil 

- 

- 

269 

Burdock 

- 

60 

Cistus 

- 

- 

187 

Bur  marigold 

- 

276 

Citron 

- 

- 

213 

Bumet 

- 

118 

Clary  - 

- 

- 

51 

Bur-reed  - 

- 

225 

Clematis  - 

- 

- 

188 

Butchers’  broom 

- 

87 

Cliders 

- 

- 

120 

Butter-cup 

- 

15 

Clove  pink 

- 

- 

177 

Butterfly  orchis 

- 

216 

Clover 

- 

- 

42 

Butter-wort 

- 

101 

Club-moss 

- 

- 

69 

Butter  and  eggs 

- 

7 

Cocoa-nut 

- 

- 

243 

Cockle 

- 

- 

178 

Cabbage  - 

- 

192 

Cock’s  comb 

- 

- 

228 

Cabbage  rose  - 

- 

33 

Codlings  and 

cream 

- 

47 

Cactus 

- 

180 

Colewort 

- 

- 

192 

Calico  flowers 

- 

173 

Columbine 

- 

- 

188 

Camomile 

- 

57 

Comfrey 

- 

- 

123 

Campanula 

- 

44 

Conferva  - 

- 

- 

258 

Camphor  - 

- 

176 

Convolvulus 

- 

- 

132 

Campion 

- 

177 

Corallines  - 

- 

- 

257 

Canary-bird  flower 

- 

174 

Corn  - 

- 

- 

108 

Candy-tuft 

- 

195 

Corn-cockle 

- 

- 

178 

Cane 

- 

112 

C  orn-  chrysanthemum 

- 

57 

INDEX.  283 


Page 

Page 

Cornel 

- 

-  263 

Earth-nut  - 

- 

- 

152 

Corn-flag 

- 

106 

Eglantine 

- 

32 

Corn-flower 

- 

-  61 

Egyptian  wheat 

- 

- 

110 

Corn-salad 

• 

262 

Elder  - 

- 

154 

Cotton 

• 

-  202 

Elm 

- 

- 

144 

Cotton-grass  - 

- 

111 

Enchanter’s  niglit-shade  - 

101 

Cow-parsley 

- 

-  153 

Esperances 

- 

- 

16 

Cowslip 

- 

19 

Espiritu  santo  - 

- 

219 

Crab 

- 

-  28 

Euphorbia  - 

- 

- 

223 

Crane’s-bill 

- 

198 

Everlasting 

- 

58 

Cranberry  - 

- 

-  173 

Eye-bright 

- 

- 

272 

Crocus  - 

- 

4 

Cross-wort 

- 

-  119 

Fair  maids  of  February 

- 

4 

Crown  imperial 

- 

161 

Fair  maids  of  France 

- 

16 

Crowfoot  - 

• 

-  15 

Fairy  bath 

- 

252 

Cuckoo  flower  - 

- 

177 

Fan-palm  - 

- 

- 

241 

Cuckoo  flower 

- 

•  194 

Fat-hen 

- 

156 

Cucumber 

- 

230 

Fennel 

- 

- 

152 

Cudweed  - 

- 

-  58 

Fern  - 

- 

70 

Cup  lichen 

- 

66 

Field  madder 

- 

- 

263 

Currant 

- 

-  137 

Fig 

- 

245 

Cypress 

- 

94 

Fig-wort 

- 

- 

273 

Fir 

- 

90 

Daffodil 

- 

-  6 

Flag 

- 

- 

104 

Dahlia  - 

- 

57 

Flax  - 

- 

157 

Daisy 

- 

-  55 

Flea-bane  - 

- 

- 

57 

Damask  rose  - 

- 

33 

Fleur-de-lys 

- 

104 

Dandelion  - 

- 

-  60 

Flowering  fern 

- 

- 

71 

Date  palm 

- 

243 

Flowering  rush 

- 

175 

Datura 

- 

-  132 

Fly  ophrys 

- 

- 

219 

Deadly  nightshade 

- 

124 

French  bean  - 

- 

38 

Dead-nettle 

- 

-  52 

French  willow  herb 

- 

47 

Dew-berry 

- 

34 

Fringed  lily 

- 

24 

Dock 

- 

-  167 

Fritillary  - 

- 

- 

160 

Dodder 

- 

133 

Frog-bit 

240 

Dog  rose  - 

- 

-  32 

Forget-me-not 

- 

- 

24 

Dog  violet 

- 

25 

Fox-glove 

- 

49 

Dog’s  mercury 

- 

-  240 

F  ox-tail 

- 

- 

69 

Dog  wood 

- 

263 

Fuchsia 

- 

48 

Dove’s-foot  crane’s-bill 

-  198 

Fungus 

- 

- 

247 

Dove  orchis 

- 

219 

Furze  - 

- 

40 

Dry-rot 

- 

-  252 

Duckweed 

- 

102 

Garlick 

- 

- 

164 

Dutch  rushes 

- 

-  246 

Gentian 

- 

134 

Dwale  - 

- 

124 

Geranium  - 

- 

- 

199 

Dwarf  furze 

- 

-  41 

Germander  speedwell  - 

101 

Eagle  fern 

- 

75 

Germander 

- 

- 

271 

284 


INDEX. 


Page 

Page 

Geum 

-  270 

Hop 

-  238 

Gillia  - 

- 

131 

Horned  poppy 

- 

186 

Gipsy-wort 

-  101 

Horse-chestnut 

-  169 

Gladiolus 

- 

106 

Horse-tail 

- 

246 

Glasswort  - 

-  95 

Hound’s-tongue 

-  123 

Golden  rod 

- 

57 

House-leek 

• 

179 

Goldilocks 

-  276 

Hyacinth  - 

-  163 

Good  King  Henry 

- 

156 

Hypnum 

- 

68 

Gooseberry 

-  137 

Goosefoot 

- 

156 

Impatiens 

- 

136 

Goose-grass 

-  120 

Indian  corn 

-  223 

Gorse  - 

- 

40 

Indian  cress 

- 

174 

Gourd 

-  230 

Indian  pink 

-  177 

Goutweed 

- 

153 

Ipomea 

- 

133 

Grapes 

-  140 

Iris  -  - 

-  104 

Grass 

- 

107 

Ivy  - 

- 

84,  136 

Grass  of  Parnassus 

-  266 

Ground  ivy 

- 

52 

J  ack-in-a-box 

-  21 

Groundsel 

-  57 

Jack-by-the-hedge 

- 

194 

Guelder  rose  - 

- 

155 

Jerusalem  artichoke 

-  54 

Guernsey  lily 

-  161 

Jessamine 

- 

98 

Gulf-weed 

- 

25  6 

Jointed  glass- wort  - 

-  95 

Gum-cistus 

-  187 

Jonquil 

- 

7 

J uly  flower 

-  191 

Hart’s-tongue  - 

- 

71 

Jumping  Betty 

- 

136 

Harebell  - 

-  45 

Juniper 

-  242 

Hawthorn 

- 

27 

Hawkweed 

61,  276 

Kail 

-  192 

Hazel  - 

- 

9 

Kalmia 

- 

173 

Heath 

-  45 

King  cup  - 

-  15 

Heart’s-ease 

- 

26 

Knap-weed 

- 

61 

Heath  pea  - 

-  41 

Knee-liolm 

-  87 

Hedge  mustard 

- 

194 

Knock-bead 

- 

117 

Helleborine 

-  218 

Knotted  fucus 

-  254 

Hemlock 

- 

153 

Hemp  nettle 

-  271 

Laburnum 

-  39 

Henbane 

- 

123 

Ladies’  bed-straw 

- 

120 

Hepatica  - 

-  14 

Lady  fern  - 

-  73 

Herb  Paris 

- 

175 

Lady’s  fingers  - 

- 

41 

Herb  Robert 

-  198 

Lady’s  mantle 

-  121 

Hibiscus 

- 

201 

Lady’s  smock  - 

- 

194 

Hoary  plantain 

-  118 

Lady’s  tresses 

-  217 

Hogweed 

- 

153 

Lamb’s  lettuce 

- 

262 

Holly 

80,  121 

Lapsana  - 

-  276 

Holy  oak 

- 

200 

Larch  - 

- 

93 

Honesty  - 

-  195 

Larkspur  - 

-  187 

Honeysuckle  - 

- 

134 

Laurel 

- 

31 

INDEX. 

285 

Page 

Page 

Laurustinus 

- 

156 

Mazereum  - 

-  174 

Lavender 

- 

51 

Michaelmas  daisy 

- 

57 

Laver 

- 

256 

Mignionette 

-  178 

Lent  lily 

- 

6 

Mildew 

- 

252 

Lemon 

- 

212 

Milfoil 

-  277 

Lettuce 

- 

276 

Milk-wort 

- 

41 

Lichen 

• 

65 

Mimosa 

-  245 

Lilac  - 

- 

97 

Mint  - 

- 

271 

Lily 

• 

158 

Mistletoe  - 

-  83 

Lily  of  the  valley 

- 

164 

Mithridate  mustard 

- 

273 

Lime-tree  - 

- 

187 

Monkey-flower 

-  51 

Lime  - 

- 

212 

Monk’s-hood  - 

- 

187 

Ling 

- 

46 

Moneywort 

-  129 

Lion’s-tail 

- 

258 

Moonwort 

- 

195 

Liver-wort 

- 

66 

Morel 

-  248 

Loose-strife 

- 

129 

Mouse-ear  scorpion-grass 

24 

Lox*ds  and  ladies  - 

- 

229 

Moss 

-  67 

Love-in-idleness 

- 

27 

Moss  rose 

- 

33 

Love-lies-bleeding 

- 

228 

Mould 

-  252 

Lotus  - 

- 

41 

Mountain-ash  - 

- 

184 

Lucerne 

• 

42 

Mountain-parsley  - 

-  76 

Luckie  Minnie’s  lines 

- 

255 

Mullein 

- 

130 

Lung-wort 

- 

66 

Musk 

-  51 

Lung-wort 

- 

123 

Musk-mallow  - 

- 

201 

Lupin 

- 

41 

Mushroom 

-  248 

Lychnis 

- 

177 

Mustard 

- 

193 

Myrtle 

-  182 

Maiden-hair 

- 

72 

Maize  - 

- 

223 

Narcissus 

6 

Mallow 

- 

201 

Nasturtium 

-  174 

Malope 

- 

201 

Nectarine 

- 

30 

Mangle-wurzel 

- 

157 

Nettle 

-  227 

Man-tway-blade 

- 

217 

Nightshade 

- 

125 

Maple 

- 

173 

Noli-me-tangere 

-  136 

Mare’s-tail 

- 

95 

Marigold  - 

- 

17 

Oak 

- 

230 

Marsh  marigold 

- 

17 

Oats 

-  110 

Marjoram  - 

- 

51 

Oat-grass 

- 

111 

Martagon 

- 

160 

Old  man’s  beard  - 

-  189 

May 

- 

27 

Olive  - 

• 

99 

May  wings 

- 

41 

Onion 

-  164 

Meadow  crane’s-bill 

- 

199 

Ophrys 

- 

218 

Meadow  rue 

- 

188 

Orache 

-  245 

Meadow  scabious  - 

- 

114 

Orange 

- 

208 

Meadow  sweet 

- 

184 

Orchis 

-  214 

Melitis 

- 

272 

Oscillatoria 

- 

259 

Melon  - 

- 

230 

Osmunda  regalis  - 

-  71 

286  INDEX. 


Page 

Page 

Osmunda  - 

- 

-  71 

Primrose  - 

- 

- 

17 

Ox-eye  daisy  - 

- 

56 

Primula 

- 

19 

Ox-lip 

- 

-  19 

Prince’s  feather 

- 

- 

228 

Ox-tongue 

- 

275 

Privet  - 

- 

100 

Oyster-green 

- 

-  257 

Protea 

- 

- 

121 

Osier  - 

- 

235 

Provence  rose  - 

- 

33 

Prunella 

- 

- 

52 

Palm 

- 

-  242 

Puff-ball 

- 

251 

Pansey 

- 

27 

Pumpkin  - 

- 

- 

232 

Papyrus 

- 

-  167 

Purple  loose-strife 

- 

178 

Park-leaves 

- 

207 

Parsley 

- 

-  152 

Quiver  grass 

- 

- 

111 

Pasque-flower  - 

- 

12,  13 

Queen  of  the  meadow 

- 

184 

Passion-flower 

- 

-  196 

Patience-dock 

- 

168 

Radish 

- 

- 

193 

Pea 

- 

-  36 

Ragged-robin  - 

- 

177 

Peach  - 

- 

30 

Ragweed  - 

- 

- 

57 

Pear 

- 

-  30 

Ranunculus 

- 

15 

Pelargonium  - 

- 

199 

Raspberry  - 

- 

- 

35 

Pellitory  - 

- 

-  245 

Ray-grass 

- 

111 

Pencilled  crane’s 

-bill 

- 

199 

Red-rattle  - 

- 

- 

272 

Pennywort 

- 

-  178 

Red-robin 

- 

177 

Penstemon 

- 

51 

Reed-mace 

- 

- 

224 

Peony 

- 

-  187 

Rein-deer  moss 

- 

66 

Periwinkle 

- 

22 

Rest-harrow 

- 

- 

274 

Persicaria  - 

- 

-  175 

Rhododendron 

. 

173 

Peziza 

- 

252 

Rhubarb 

- 

- 

168 

Pheasant-eye 

- 

-  186 

Ribes  - 

- 

136 

Phlox  - 

- 

131 

Ribwort 

- 

- 

117 

Picotee 

- 

-  177 

Rice 

• 

111 

Pilewort 

- 

16 

Rocket 

- 

194 

Pimento 

- 

182 

Rocket  vellow-weed 

179 

Pimpernel  - 

- 

-  129 

Rock-brake 

- 

- 

76 

Pine 

- 

90 

Rose  - 

- 

31 

Pine-apple 

- 

-  164 

Rose-campion 

- 

- 

177 

Pink  - 

- 

177 

Rosemary 

- 

51 

Pirijao 

- 

-  244 

Rowan 

- 

- 

184 

Plantain 

- 

117 

Rush  - 

- 

166 

Polyanthus 

- 

21 

Rye 

- 

- 

110 

Polypody  - 

- 

-  72 

Pomegranate  - 

- 

182 

Saffron 

- 

5 

Poplar 

- 

-  237 

Sage 

• 

51, 

101 

Poppy  - 

- 

185 

Sandwort 

177 

Poppy  anemone 

- 

-  14 

Sainfoin 

- 

_ 

42 

Portugal  laurel 

- 

31 

Saint  Gundula’s  lamp 

- 

252 

Potatoe 

- 

-  126 

Saint  John’s  wort 

- 

- 

208 

Prickly  eomfrey 

- 

123 

Salix  - 

- 

235 

INDEX. 

287 

Page 

t 

Page 

Salvia 

- 

51 

Spindle-tree 

- 

84 

Samphire 

• 

266 

Spleen-wort 

- 

- 

73 

Sanicle 

- 

-  154 

Spurge 

- 

222 

Sandwort 

- 

177 

Star  of  Bethlehem 

- 

- 

162 

Sauce  alone 

- 

-  194 

Star-wort 

- 

177 

Saw-wort 

- 

276 

Stone-crop  - 

- 

- 

178 

Saxifrage  - 

- 

-  176 

Stinking-flag  - 

- 

104 

Scabious 

- 

113 

Stitch-wort 

- 

- 

177 

Scarlet-runner 

- 

-  38 

Stock  - 

- 

190 

Scotch  fir 

- 

90 

Strawberry 

- 

- 

35 

Scotch  rose 

- 

-  32 

Strawberry-tree  - 

- 

176 

Sea-aster 

- 

277 

Sugar-cane 

- 

- 

112 

Sea-laces  - 

- 

-  255 

Sun-dew 

- 

157 

Sea-grapes 

- 

256 

Swan’s-neck 

- 

69 

Sea-tangle  - 

- 

-  253 

Sweet-pea 

- 

36 

Sea-thongs 

- 

255 

Sweet-briar 

- 

- 

32 

Sea-wand  - 

- 

-  253 

Sweet-William 

- 

176 

Sea-weeds 

- 

253 

Swine-tangle 

- 

- 

254 

Sedge 

- 

-  226 

Sun-flower 

- 

54 

Self-heal 

- 

52 

Sycamore  - 

- 

- 

174 

Sensitive-plant 

- 

-  245 

Shaddock 

- 

212 

Tansy  - 

- 

276 

Shepherd’s  needle 

- 

-  152 

Tare 

- 

- 

41 

Shepherd’s  purse 

- 

195 

Tea 

- 

204 

Shepherd’s  weather-glass 

-  129 

Teazel 

- 

- 

115 

Shamrock 

- 

42 

Thistle 

- 

59 

Shield-fern 

- 

-  73 

Thrift 

- 

- 

157 

Silene  - 

- 

177 

Thorn-apple 

- 

132 

Silver  fir 

- 

90 

Thunbergia 

- 

- 

133 

Silver-weed 

- 

-  269 

Thyme 

- 

51 

Skewer-wood  - 

- 

84 

Tiger-lily  - 

- 

- 

159 

Skull-cap  - 

- 

-  51 

Toad-flax 

- 

51 

Smut  - 

- 

252 

Toad-spawn 

- 

- 

259 

Snake-flower 

- 

-  160 

Toad-stool 

- 

249 

Snap-dragon  - 

- 

50 

Tormentil  - 

- 

- 

269 

Snow-ball  tree 

- 

-  155 

Touch-me-not 

- 

136 

Snowbeny 

- 

156 

Traveller’s  joy 

- 

- 

189 

Snowdrop  - 

- 

2 

Treacle  mustard 

- 

195 

Soapwort 

- 

176 

Trefoil 

- 

- 

42 

Solanum 

- 

-  126 

Trifolium  incarnatum 

- 

42 

Solomon’s  seal  - 

- 

164 

Tripe-de-roche 

- 

- 

66 

Sorrel-dock 

- 

-  168 

Tropeolum 

- 

174 

Sow-thistle 

- 

276 

Truffle 

- 

- 

251 

Speedwell  - 

- 

-  101 

Tulip  - 

- 

160 

Spinach 

- 

-  156 

Turkey-feather 

- 

- 

257 

Spider-ophrys  - 

- 

219 

Turk’s  cap 

- 

159 

Spider-wort 

- 

-  166 

Turnip 

- 

- 

193 

288 


INDEX. 


Tussock-grass  - 

_ 

Page 

112 

White  lily  - 

Page 

-  159 

Tutsan 

-  207 

White  robin 

177 

Tway-blade 

- 

217 

White  thorn 

-  27 

Valerian  - 

-  262 

Whortle-berry  - 
Wild  succory 

172 
-  276 

Valisneria 

- 

233 

Wild  vine 

228 

V  egetable-marro  w 

-  231 

Willow 

-  235 

Verbena  - 

- 

100 

Willow  herb 

47 

Venus’  comb 

-  152 

Wind-flower 

-  13 

Venus’  looking-glass 

- 

45 

Winter-green  - 

169 

Veronica  * 

-  101 

Withy 

-  235 

Vervain  - 

- 

100 

Woad  - 

179 

Vetch 

-  41 

Wood-anemone 

-  13 

Vetchling 

- 

41 

Woodbine 

134 

Victoria  lily  - 

-  186 

Woodruff  - 

-  119 

Vine 

- 

140 

Wood-rush 

167 

Violet 

-  25 

Wood-sorrel 

-  178 

Viper’s  bugloss 

- 

121 

Woody-nightshade 

125 

Virgin’s  bower 

-  189 

W  ormwood 

-  276 

Wart- weed 

222 

Wound-wort 
Wych-elm  - 

271 
-  150 

Wall-flower 

Water-cress 

. 

-  191 
194 

Yarrow  - 

277 

Water-chickweed  - 

-  262 

Yellow  bird’s-nest  - 

-  265 

Water-dock 

- 

167 

Yellow  dead-nettle 

272 

Water-lily  - 

-  186 

Yellow  flag 

-  104 

Water-melon  - 

- 

230 

Yellow  lark-heel 

174 

Water-plaintain 

-  166 

Yellow  loose-strife 

-  129 

Way-faring  tree 

- 

155 

Yellow-weed 

170 

Weasel-snout 

-  272 

Yellow- wort 

-  172 

W  eeping- willow 

- 

236 

Yellow  pimpernel 

129 

Weymouth  pine 

-  92 

Yellow  rattle 

-  272 

Wheat  - 

- 

108 

Yellow  cow- wheat 

272 

White  bottle 

-  177 

Yew 

-  240 

White  bryony  - 

228 

York-and-Lancaster 

rose  -  33 

John  and  Charles  Mozley,  Printers,  Derby, 


Library 
of  the 

University  of  Toronto